The second day of the second month, the dragon raises its head.

In the twilight, within a secluded area of a small town called Mud Bottle Lane, there was a solitary and thin young man. At this moment, he was following the custom, holding a candle in one hand and a peach branch in the other. He illuminated the rafters, walls, and wooden bed, tapping them with the peach branch in an attempt to drive away snakes, scorpions, centipedes, and the like. He muttered the old saying passed down through generations in this town: “The second day of the second month, candle shines on beam, peach strikes wall, no place for serpents and insects to hide.”

The young man’s surname was Chen, and his given name was Ping’an. His parents had passed away early. The town’s porcelain was extremely famous, having shouldered the important task of “supervising the burning of sacrificial vessels for the imperial mausoleum” since the founding of the dynasty. Imperial officials were stationed here year-round to oversee the affairs of the imperial kiln. The orphaned young man had become a kiln worker at a very young age. Initially, he could only do odd jobs and rough work, enduring several years of hardship with a bad-tempered, half-baked master. Just as he had grasped some of the secrets of porcelain firing, fate intervened, and the town suddenly lost the protective charm of being an imperial kiln. Overnight, dozens of kilns surrounding the town, shaped like reclining dragons, were all 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, looking up at the starry sky.

The young man still remembered clearly that the old master, surnamed Yao, who only acknowledged him as half a disciple, was found sitting on a small bamboo chair in the early morning of last autumn, facing the kiln opening, with his eyes closed.

However, people like old Yao, who were obsessed with one thing, were ultimately in the minority.

The town’s craftsmen, who had only ever known how to fire porcelain for generations, dared not overstep their bounds by firing tribute-grade imperial kiln wares, nor dared they privately sell the stored porcelain to the common people. They had to find other ways to make a living. 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, which was in such a desolate state that it was almost bare. Even if Chen Ping’an wanted to be a spendthrift, he had no means to do so.

After drifting around like a wandering ghost for some time, the young man couldn’t find any way to earn money. Relying on his meager savings, he barely managed to fill his stomach. A few days ago, he heard that an old ironsmith surnamed Ruan had come to Dragon Riding Lane a few streets away. He claimed to be taking on seven or eight blacksmith apprentices, without pay but with meals provided. Chen Ping’an quickly rushed to try his luck, but he didn’t expect the old man to just glance at him and reject him. Chen Ping’an wondered at the time if blacksmithing wasn’t about strength, but about having a good face.

It should be known that although Chen Ping’an looked weak, his strength was not to be underestimated. This was the result of years of training in pulling clay for porcelain. In addition, Chen Ping’an had followed old man Yao, running all over the mountains and rivers within a hundred miles of the town, tasting all kinds of soil, working hard and willingly doing any dirty work. Unfortunately, old Yao never liked Chen Ping’an, disliking the young man’s lack of comprehension, calling him a dull blockhead, far inferior to his eldest disciple, Liu Xianyang. This was not to blame the old man’s favoritism; the master leads you through the door, but the cultivation is up to you. For example, the same boring pulling of clay, Liu Xianyang’s skills in just half a year were equivalent to Chen Ping’an’s hard work for three years.

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

After about every quarter of an hour, the young man would rest for a little while, shaking his wrists, repeating this cycle.

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Until he was completely exhausted, Chen Ping’an then got up, walking around the yard, slowly stretching his muscles. No one had ever taught Chen Ping’an these things; he had figured them out himself.

The world was originally silent, but Chen Ping’an heard a harsh, mocking laugh. He stopped, and sure enough, he saw a contemporary squatting on the wall, grinning, not hiding his contempt.

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, eventually returned to the capital alone to report for duty, entrusting the child to the succeeding official, who had a close personal relationship, to help look after him. Now that the town had inexplicably lost its imperial kiln firing qualification, the supervising official responsible for overseeing the kiln affairs for the imperial court was himself struggling to survive and couldn’t care less about the illegitimate son of a colleague in the officialdom. He left some money and hurriedly rushed to the capital to curry favor.

The neighbor boy, who had unknowingly become a discarded son, still lived a carefree life, wandering around the town with his personal maid all day long, 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 tiptoe at all to see the scene in this yard, but he always liked to squat on the wall when talking to Chen Ping’an.

Compared to the crude and common name of Chen Ping’an, the neighbor boy’s name was much more elegant, called Song Jixin. Even the maid who depended on him had a literary name, Zhigui.

The girl was standing on the other side of the courtyard wall, with a pair of apricot eyes, timid and weak.

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

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

Standing beside the brocade-robed young man was a tall old man with a fair complexion and a kindly face, squinting his eyes and observing the young men and women in the neighboring courtyards.

The old man’s gaze swept over Chen Ping’an without lingering, but it stayed on Song Jixin and the maid for a longer time, his smile gradually becoming richer.

Song Jixin squinted and said, “Sell! Why wouldn’t I sell!”

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

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The girl widened her eyes, her face full of disbelief, like a frightened young deer.

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

The brocade-robed young man’s face remained unchanged, and he nodded, “Okay.”

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

The brocade-robed young man’s lips curled up, and he said, “Just kidding with you.”

Song Jixin’s face darkened.

The brocade-robed young man 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 after buying it back, the more I like it. I thought I had to thank you in person, so I asked Grandpa Wu to take me to find you overnight.”

He threw out a heavy embroidered pouch and tossed it to Chen Ping’an, smiling brightly, “This is the reward, we’re even.”

Just as Chen Ping’an was about to speak, the brocade-robed young man had already turned and left.

Chen Ping’an frowned.

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During the day, he had inadvertently 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 very festive, so he asked if he could buy it for ten copper coins. The middle-aged man originally just wanted to reward his stomach, but seeing the potential for profit, he drove up the price, demanding thirty copper coins to sell it. Chen Ping’an, who was short of money, didn’t have that much to spare, but he couldn’t bear to part with the golden carp, so he followed the middle-aged man, begging and pleading, trying to cut the price to fifteen coins, or even twenty. Just as the middle-aged man was showing signs of loosening his grip, the brocade-robed young man and the tall old man happened to pass by. Without saying a word, they bought the carp and the fish basket for fifty coins, and Chen Ping’an could only watch them leave, helpless.

Staring intently at the backs of the grandfather and grandson as they walked further and further away, Song Jixin withdrew his fierce gaze, jumped off the wall, and seemed to remember something. He said to Chen Ping’an, “Do you still remember that four-legged creature from the first month?”

Chen Ping’an nodded.

How could he not remember? It was still fresh in his mind.

According to the custom that has been passed down in this town for hundreds of years, if a snake crawls into your house, it is a good omen, and the owner must never drive it away or kill it. On the first day of the first month, Song Jixin was sitting on the threshold basking in the sun, and then a small thing commonly known as a skink crawled into the house under his nose. Song Jixin grabbed it and threw it into the yard. He didn’t expect that the skink, already dazed, would become more and more courageous, again and again. Song Jixin, who never believed in ghosts and gods, was so angry that he threw it into Chen Ping’an’s yard in a fit of anger. He didn’t expect that Song Jixin would see the skink curled up under his bed the next day.

Song Jixin noticed the girl tugging at his sleeve.

The young man and her were telepathic, and he subconsciously swallowed the words that had already reached his lips.

He wanted to say that the ugly skink had a bulge on its forehead recently, like horns growing on its head.

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

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

Song Jixin said half-jokingly, “I definitely can’t move some of my things, so don’t take advantage of my house being empty to steal things.”

Chen Ping’an shook his head.

Song Jixin suddenly laughed and pointed at Chen Ping’an with his finger, grinning, “Timid as a mouse, no wonder poor families don’t produce nobles. Not only will you be poor and bullied in this life, but you may not escape it in the next life either.”

Chen Ping’an was silent.

Each returned to their houses, Chen Ping’an closed the door and lay on the hard wooden bed. The poor youth closed his eyes and whispered, “Shui Shui Ping, Sui Sui An, Shui Shui Ping’an, Sui Sui Ping’an…”

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ps1: A side story of nearly 200,000 words from Snow has been updated on WeChat. The WeChat official account is: fenghuo1985

ps2: More than a hundred alliance leaders before it was uploaded, you are mighty…

ps3: Long time no see, Sword Coming!

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