The second day of the second month, the dragon raises its head. In the twilight, in a secluded place called Mud Bottle Lane in a small town, a lonely, thin young man was following the custom. He held a candle in one hand and a peach branch in the other, illuminating the beams, walls, and wooden bed, tapping with the peach branch, trying to drive away snakes, scorpions, centipedes, and other creatures. He muttered the old sayings passed down through generations in this town: “The second day of the second month, candle lights the beams, peach strikes the walls, no place for snakes and insects to hide.”

The boy’s surname was Chen, and his given name was Ping An. His parents had passed away early. The town was famous for its porcelain. Since the founding of the dynasty, it had shouldered the important task of “supervising the firing of sacrificial vessels for the Xian Mausoleum by imperial order.” Government officials were stationed here year-round to supervise the affairs of the official kilns. The helpless boy became a kiln worker at a young age, initially doing odd jobs. After several years of hard work under a bad-tempered temporary master, he had just begun to grasp some of the secrets of firing porcelain when, as often happens, the town suddenly lost the official kiln’s patronage, its protective charm. Overnight, all the dozens of kilns around the town, shaped like reclining dragons, were ordered by the government to be closed and extinguished.

Chen Ping An put down the newly broken peach branch, blew out the candle, and walked out of the house. He sat on the steps, looked up, and saw a brilliant starry sky.

The boy still clearly remembered that Master Yao, who only agreed to accept him as a half-apprentice, was found sitting on a small bamboo chair, facing the kiln, eyes closed, in the early morning of last autumn.

But people like Old Yao who got hung up on things were, in the end, few. The town’s craftsmen, who had only ever known how to fire porcelain, dared not overstep their bounds by firing tribute-quality official kilns, nor did they dare to secretly sell the stored porcelain to the common people. They had no choice but to seek other ways out. The fourteen-year-old Chen Ping An was also swept out the door. After returning to Mud Bottle Lane, he continued to guard this dilapidated old house, a scene of abject poverty. Even if Chen Ping An wanted to be a spendthrift, he had nothing to squander.

After being a wandering ghost for some time, the boy really couldn’t find a way to earn a living. With his meager savings, the boy barely filled his stomach. A few days ago, he heard that a foreign old blacksmith surnamed Ruan had come to Riding Dragon Lane a few streets away, claiming to take seven or eight blacksmith apprentices, without pay, but with meals. Chen Ping An quickly ran to try his luck, but the old man just glanced at him and rejected him out of hand. At the time, Chen Ping An wondered if blacksmithing was not about arm strength but about good looks?

You should know that although Chen Ping An looked weak, his strength was not to be underestimated. This was the physical foundation that the boy had built up over the years of pulling clay in the porcelain kilns. In addition, Chen Ping An had followed Old Yao, running all over the mountains and rivers within a hundred miles of the town, tasting the flavors of various soils, and working hard, willing to do all kinds of dirty and tiring work without hesitation. Unfortunately, Old Yao never liked Chen Ping An, despising the boy for his lack of understanding, calling him a blockhead, far inferior to his eldest apprentice, Liu Xianyang. This was not to blame the old man for being biased. The master leads the way, but the cultivation is up to the individual. For example, in the same tedious clay pulling, Liu Xianyang’s skill in just half a year was equivalent to Chen Ping An’s hard work of three years.

Although he might never use this skill in his life, Chen Ping An still closed his eyes as usual, imagining a bluestone slab and a potter’s wheel in front of him, and began to practice clay pulling, practice makes perfect.

About every quarter of an hour, the boy would rest for a little while, shake his wrists, and so on repeatedly, until he was completely exhausted. Only then did Chen Ping An get up, walk around the courtyard, and slowly stretch his muscles. No one had ever taught Chen Ping An these things. He had figured them out on his own.

The world was originally silent, but Chen Ping An heard a harsh mocking laugh, stopped, and, as expected, saw a boy of the same age squatting on the wall, grinning, and not hiding his disdain.

This person was Chen Ping An’s old neighbor, said to be the illegitimate son of the former Supervising Official. That official, fearing criticism from the literati and impeachment from the censors, finally returned to the capital alone to report his duties, leaving the child to the succeeding official, with whom he had a close personal relationship, to help take care of him. Now that the town had inexplicably lost its official kiln firing qualification, the Supervising Official in charge of supervising the kiln affairs for the imperial court was unable to save himself. He left some money and rushed to the capital to smooth things over.

Unknowingly reduced to an abandoned child, the neighbor boy still lived a carefree life, wandering inside and outside the town all day with his personal maid, never worrying about money all year round.

The earthen walls of every household in Mud Bottle Lane were very low. In fact, the neighbor boy didn’t need to stand on tiptoe to see the scene in this courtyard, but every time he talked to Chen Ping An, he liked to squat on the wall.

Compared to the crude and vulgar name of Chen Ping An, the neighbor boy had a much more elegant name, Song Jixin. Even the maid who depended on him had a refined name, Zhigui. The girl was standing on the other side of the courtyard wall, her almond-shaped eyes timid and weak.

A voice sounded from the courtyard gate, “Are you selling this maid?”

Song Jixin was stunned and turned to look in the direction of the voice. It was a young man in brocade clothes with a smile in his eyes, standing outside the courtyard, a completely unfamiliar face.

Standing beside the young man in brocade clothes was a tall old man, with a fair face and a kind expression, squinting slightly and looking at the young boys and girls in the adjacent courtyards.

The old man’s gaze swept over Chen Ping An without lingering, but it lingered on Song Jixin and the maid, his smile gradually deepening.

Song Jixin squinted and said, “Sell! Why not sell!”

The young man smiled slightly, “Then name a price.”

The girl’s eyes widened, her face incredulous, like a frightened young deer.

Song Jixin rolled his eyes, held up a finger, and shook it, “Ten thousand taels of silver!”

The young man in brocade clothes looked normal and nodded, “Okay.”

Seeing that the young man didn’t seem to be joking, Song Jixin quickly changed his words, “Ten thousand taels of gold!”

The young man in brocade clothes curled his lips and said, “Just kidding.”

Song Jixin’s face darkened.

The young man in brocade clothes ignored Song Jixin, shifted his gaze, and looked at Chen Ping An, “Thanks to you today, I was able to buy that carp. The more I look at it, the more I like it. I wanted to thank you in person, so I asked Grandpa Wu to bring me to you overnight.”

He threw a heavy embroidered pouch to Chen Ping An, smiling brightly, “This is a reward, we’re even.”

Chen Ping An was about to speak, but the young man in brocade clothes had already turned to leave.

Chen Ping An frowned.

During the day, he had unintentionally seen a middle-aged man walking down the street with a fish basket, catching a palm-sized golden carp. It was jumping vigorously in the bamboo basket. Chen Ping An only glanced at it and felt it was very auspicious, so he asked if he could buy it for ten coins. The middle-aged man originally just wanted to reward his stomach, but seeing that there was profit to be made, he raised the price on the spot, asking for thirty coins. Chen Ping An, who was short of money, didn’t have that much to spare, but he really couldn’t bear to part with the golden carp, so he followed the middle-aged man with greedy eyes, begging him to lower the price to fifteen coins, or even twenty coins. Just as the middle-aged man was about to give in, the young man in brocade clothes and the tall old man happened to pass by. Without saying a word, they bought the carp and the fish basket for fifty coins. Chen Ping An could only watch them leave without a word.

Staring at the backs of the grandfather and grandson getting farther and farther away, Song Jixin withdrew his vicious gaze, jumped off the wall, and seemed to remember something. He said to Chen Ping An, “Do you remember that four-legged thing in the first month?”

Chen Ping An nodded.

How could he not remember? It was still fresh in his memory. According to the customs of this town, which had been passed down for hundreds of years, if a snake entered one’s house, it was a good omen, and the owner must not drive it away or kill it. On the first day of the first month, Song Jixin was sitting on the threshold sunbathing when a small creature commonly known as a skink scurried into the house right under his nose. Song Jixin grabbed it and threw it out of the courtyard. Unexpectedly, the skink, which had already been thrown into a dizzy state, became more and more courageous, time after time, infuriating Song Jixin, who had never believed in ghosts and gods. In a fit of anger, he threw it into Chen Ping An’s courtyard. Who would have thought that the next day, Song Jixin would see the skink coiled up under his bed?

Song Jixin noticed that the girl tugged at his sleeve.

The boy and she were telepathic, and he instinctively swallowed the words that were already on his lips.

He wanted to say that the ugly skink recently had a raised area on its forehead, as if horns were growing on its head.

Song Jixin changed his words and said, “Zhigui and I may leave here next month.”

Chen Ping An sighed, “Be careful on the road.”

Song Jixin said half-jokingly, “I definitely won’t be able to move some things. Don’t take advantage of my house being empty to steal things.”

Chen Ping An shook his head.

Song Jixin suddenly laughed, pointed at Chen Ping An, and said with a playful smile, “Cowardly as a mouse, no wonder the poor don’t have noble children. Not to mention being poor and bullied in this life, maybe you won’t escape in the next life either.”

Chen Ping An was silent.

Each returned to their own house. Chen Ping An closed the door and lay on the hard wooden bed. The poor boy closed his eyes and whispered, “Shui Shui Ping, Sui Sui An, Shui Shui Ping An, Sui Sui Ping An…” (Broken bits, peace by year, broken bits safe, peace by year…)