The second day of the second lunar month, the Dragon Raises its Head.

The Big Dipper points directly east, the Horn constellation begins to emerge, signaling the shift of seasons and the revival of spring. All things stir to life; birds and beasts grow antlers, plants and trees break through their shells, and spring plowing begins.

Throughout the various kingdoms, the imperial courts would hold assemblies on this day. Led by the Ministers of Rites and War, accompanied by the assembled officials, they would present agricultural treatises to their sovereign, emphasizing the importance of agriculture as the foundation of the realm. This symbolized the maxim that “The great affairs of state lie in sacrifice and war,” yet the “nation’s root lies in agriculture and the fields.”

The Emperor would host a banquet for his court, offering them Yichun wine, brewed using ancient methods. He would bestow upon them items crafted by the Imperial Workshops, such as knives and rulers, all made of pure white jade. This served as a reminder to the assembled officials that they were all gentlemen, and must carefully measure and weigh matters of state. The Empress would be responsible for bestowing upon the assembled noble ladies visiting the palace varying numbers of “Azure Pouches.” These were ostensibly hand-sewn by the Empress herself, untouched by the hands of palace maids. Within these verdant pouches were assorted grains and fruit seeds, to be gifted to relatives and children within their respective families, praying for a bountiful harvest and a prosperous new year. It also implied that houses of prominence and scholarly families understand that only with full granaries can propriety be maintained.

In Huaihuang County, as was the custom, every household would eat a bowl of “Dragon’s Whisker Noodles” in the morning. And on this day, flatbread was baked, named “Dragon Scales.” On this day, the town’s women and maidens awaiting marriage were required to cease all needlework. According to the elders, as the dragon raised its head on this day, any threading of needles might injure the dragon’s eyes, incurring its displeasure.

The town’s able-bodied men would lead their children, each holding a bamboo or wooden pole, tapping on the roof beams, beds, and stoves. This was known as “Calling the Dragon to Awaken Spring,” accompanied by age-old auspicious sayings and adages, such as “May the granary be full as a mountain, higher than the western peaks; may the smaller granary flow like water, remaining within our own fields.” In Fortune Street and Peach Leaf Lane, the customs might be more refined, the spoken words imbued with deeper meaning, often revolving around favorable weather, national peace, and the banishment of snakes, scorpions, and other venomous creatures, preventing them from causing harm.

Thirty or forty years prior, due to the appearance of a jinx from Mud Bottle Lane, the celebratory words associated with “peace” had become something of a taboo, rarely spoken. Even to this day, the safeguarding of a region’s peace has gradually become a weighty and meaningful expression. Some wealthy families who had moved from the town to the prefectural city even deliberately had their children break a piece of porcelain on this day, chanting three times the phrase “Sui Sui Ping An” (歲歲平安), which is a homophone for “Peace Year After Year,” to invoke good fortune.

The women and maidens of the household would venture to the Iron Lock Well at the crack of dawn to draw water. Thus, this day marked the most frequent occasion for the residents of Fortune Street and Peach Leaf Lane to mingle with the common folk from other parts of the town. The former group usually consisted of wealthy young men and women dressed in brocade, departing from their homes before dawn, one hand holding a lantern, the other carrying a beautiful and delicate celadon pot. These two groups would meet in their respective streets, two youthful processions, each forming a serpentine line, drawing water before returning home, symbolizing the bringing of the “Money Dragon” through the gate, beckoning blessings and prosperity.

Early that morning, just as dawn was breaking, Chen Ping’an, accompanied by the boy in azure robes, the girl in pink skirts, and Xiao Mi Li, descended the mountain together, arriving at the ancestral home in Mud Bottle Lane.

Each had their assigned task. Chen Ping’an first tapped the roof beams and beds with a bamboo pole, then set off with Chen Lingjun, each carrying a water bucket, to draw water from the Iron Lock Well. Nuan Shu and Xiao Mi Li remained at the residence, starting the stove to cook noodles and bake flatbread.

Not long ago, the Prefecture Governor’s office in Chuzhou had issued a notice, posted by the Huaihuang County government, declaring that the long-forbidden Iron Lock Well would be opened to the local populace on this day for drawing water.

Guo Zhujiu had been catching up on her sleep lately, slumbering day and night, so Chen Ping’an did not wake her. It was neither sword practice nor cultivation; she was simply sleeping.

Leaving Mud Bottle Lane, Chen Lingjun swung the water bucket in his hand and whispered, “Is the opening of the well due to your intervention, Old Master? Did you personally speak with the county government, and the imperial court approved it?”

The regulations established by the Dali Dynasty in its early years held immense weight, not only in Chuzhou but throughout the entire Treasure Bottle Continent. Even mountain immortals dared not disobey them, let alone alter them.

Chen Ping’an shook his head, saying, “I did not mention this matter. I originally planned to find an opportunity this year to speak with the imperial court and implement the lifting of the ban next year. Therefore, it is most likely Zhao Yao’s suggestion. In recent years, he has been committed to restoring old traditions in various regions. If the Dali Song Clan had not returned half of the territory south of the Great River, Zhao Yao, as a Vice Minister in the Ministry of Justice, would be even busier. However, the Ministry of Revenue would surely scold him as a spendthrift who only knows how to display empty gestures, and the Ministry of Rites would also criticize him for overstepping his bounds.”

Chen Lingjun spoke with the wisdom of old age, “Is this not merely empty rhetoric? The officials of Dali highly value practical achievements, each more pragmatic than the last. Zhao Yao’s reckless actions are unlikely to be well-received.”

He recalled that the incense little man who reported on time had mentioned that the re-compilation of local chronicles in various prefectures and counties of Dali had been incorporated into the imperial court’s regional evaluation, reportedly at the suggestion of Vice Minister Zhao of the Ministry of Justice. The key was the need to collect local idioms and dialects, which required cooperation with cultivators in various regions. Each local chronicle was divided into two parts, one of which was collected in the capital, each part of the book was imbued with immortal energy, so the local people complained endlessly, feeling that the move was a waste of manpower and resources, a superficial measure to create an illusion of peace.

Chen Ping’an shook his head and smiled, “Long-term achievements, the transformation between the real and the unreal, contains great knowledge. It is like the conversion between gold and silver and copper coins, with premiums and losses. But if there is no smooth channel for ‘circulation’ between the two, there will be a big problem. The Dali Dynasty will become more and more like a strong country with elite cavalry and strong soldiers in the general sense, and gradually fade away, no longer the most special and ‘different’ Dali in the Treasure Bottle Continent, or even the entire Vast Expanse. If Senior Brother Cui Chan was still in power, Zhao Yao’s actions today would actually be the actions of a national preceptor.”

Chen Lingjun honestly said, “Old Master, I don’t quite understand. I just feel that it is very profound. From this, it can be seen that Zhao Yao is still a guy with some real ability?”

Chen Ping’an smiled, “He has real ability.”

Otherwise, he would not have become a non-registered disciple of Bai Ye. Zhao Yao left his hometown as a young man and traveled far across the sea, accidentally entering an island suspended overseas in the Central Earth, which was exactly where Bai Ye cultivated.

Later, Bai Ye, who went alone to the Floating Cloud Continent, gave a broken immortal sword “Tai Bai” to four people, and Zhao Yao was one of them.

Chen Lingjun smiled mischievously, “According to the literary lineage, Vice Minister Zhao should call you ‘Uncle Master,’ Old Master?”

Chen Ping’an nodded and smiled, “That’s a must.”

Wu Yuan, the current governor of Chuzhou, because he was once Cui Chan’s personal disciple, would still have to call Chen Ping’an “Uncle Master” when he met him.
These kinds of junior disciples, in the capital, there were actually a few more. Without exception, they all held high positions, truly deserving pillars of the Dali court.

Within the small town’s marketplaces, there were alleyways even narrower and more cramped than Mud Bottle Lane. Like the shortcut to Lock Dragon Well now, if a slightly taller, sturdy man walked through, the thatched eaves would be lower than his brow, forcing him to bow his head. If he raised his head, his forehead would bump the eaves. The alley wasn’t long, the two walls pressing in, barely allowing one to extend their arms. In the past, when Chen Ping’an fetched water from Lock Dragon Well, he would pass through here to save some walking. It was just that the light was dim, a bit creepy. Children of his age in town were afraid to walk this path, but Chen Ping’an wasn’t scared of such things. Especially in winter, when it snowed, the muddy path froze solid into a sheet of ice. Chen Ping’an would place his water buckets on the ground near the alley entrance, gently push them forward, retreat a few steps, run forward, and then, with a bent knee, slide along. Man and buckets would swiftly pass through, finally meeting at the other end of the alley. This was one of the few pleasures of Chen Ping’an’s childhood, this solitary joy. He just had to be careful not to be struck by the rows of icicles hanging from the thatched eaves.

Leading Chen Lingjun out of the nameless, shadowy alley, there was a small well at the entrance. However, the well opening was small and the water shallow. Years ago, three or four nearby households would fetch water here in the early morning to avoid the long walk. As soon as the sky showed a hint of sunlight, the well would be exhausted. Chen Ping’an of Mud Bottle Lane never had the chance to come here and freeload. He had once been cursed at after fetching water from Iron Lock Well, mistaken for a water thief. That’s why Chen Ping’an later understood the principle of “avoiding suspicion of stealing melons under a melon vine,” which he read about in a book. He had understood the idea long ago, but the book just stated the principle so clearly in a single sentence.

Beside the well had once been a vegetable patch, but the soil was poor. The vegetables grown were often short, thin, and astringent. Now, the patch was long abandoned, piled high with broken tiles and rubble gathered from all around, overgrown with weeds of gray and green intertwined.

Chen Lingjun never paid attention to these street scenes. Nothing to see. He walked with long strides, suddenly realizing the old master had stopped behind him, not keeping up. Chen Lingjun turned to look, and Chen Ping’an quickly caught up, smiling casually, “If I were to tend this vegetable patch, the soil would be much better. The vegetables grown wouldn’t be so coarse and astringent, and would taste much better.”

Chen Lingjun laughed heartily, “Of course! Old Master is quick with his hands and feet. He was a kiln apprentice and knows how to recognize soil, fertilizing and cultivating it. The vegetables in the garden would grow as tall as a person!”

But after walking a dozen steps, Chen Lingjun suddenly paused, as if tasting an aftertaste. He cautiously turned his head to look at the old master beside him.

Chen Ping’an smiled and patted the boy’s head, “You know, then that’s good. Just don’t tell Little Millet and the others. It will be known all over the mountain.”

Chen Lingjun nodded vigorously, proactively changing the subject, “That fellow fishing at Yellow Lake Mountain, calling himself Fu Hu, from the capital, now the magistrate of Pingnan County, even saying that Old Master personally invited him to Yellow Lake Mountain to fish. Does this Fu really know Old Master?”

A seventh-rank sesame seed official, with such audacity, actually dared to fish at Yellow Lake Mountain! Chen Lingjun had caught him red-handed. Yellow Lake Mountain had once been the domain of the water dragon Hong, naturally a place of excellent Feng Shui, where fish and dragons hid, smoke and mist were locked in, and clouds and water were vast. It was truly a good place to fish, but normally, who would dare to come here?

Chen Ping’an hummed in agreement, “I know him. We fished together in Pingnan County before. Magistrate Fu even gave me a few fish. He’s easy to talk to, without much official airs.”

Fu Hu himself didn’t know how he was able to be transferred out of the Reporting Office in the capital, receiving such a real position as the head of a county. Moreover, Pingnan County was a superior county located in Chuzhou, clearly a sign that the court intended to use him greatly. No wonder Fu Hu, accustomed to working in a quiet government office, was so confused. Chen Ping’an knew very well that it must have been because he got along well with Lin Zhengcheng when they were colleagues in the same office. Before Lin Zhengcheng was transferred out of the capital to head the Hongzhou Logging Yard, he had said a few good words for Fu Hu. And the reason Chen Ping’an specifically went to the river to “intercept” Fu Hu was also with the intention of learning from others. He wanted to first see Fu Hu’s character.

Chen Lingjun said, “Magistrate Fu speaks in such a formal, bookish way, I can’t keep up. I often can’t get a word in.”

Earlier, Chen Lingjun had accompanied this young official from the capital and chatted casually for a few words, but they didn’t click at all. It was like a chicken talking to a duck. Fu Hu said something about how those who know how to be enfeoffed as marquises and become prime ministers, with jade halls and golden horses, must have a soaring spirit and moving beauty. Those who know how to be petty officials, clerks and assistants, must be shallow in talent and narrow in mind. It was a pity that Big Wind wasn’t there at the time, otherwise Chen Lingjun would have definitely had Zheng Dafeng come out to suppress Fu Hu’s bookish air.

Chen Ping’an smiled, “Fu Hu is more than capable of being an upright official.”

Many sons of humble origins, who went from being peasants in the morning to ascending the emperor’s hall in the evening, find it difficult to overcome the lure of wealth once they enter officialdom. Gold, silver, and treasures form a gate to hell.

Sons of aristocratic families find it difficult to understand the hunger of the starving when they become officials. The worst thing is to be arrogant and incompetent, ambitious but untalented, neither understanding nor caring about the sufferings of the people.

After passing through this poor alley, the road widened. The old pagoda tree was still there, with long wooden planks for benches and a few stone stools, providing a place for people to rest and enjoy the cool in summer, bask in the sun in winter. In spring, emerald feathers would often gather in the trees, the birds’ plumage close in color to the leaves, making them difficult to spot. Only when they began to chirp would people beneath the tree look up. Mischievous children would take out their slingshots. Gu Can was a master of this art, patient and skilled, often returning to Mud Bottle Lane with a long string of birds. Other families had feather dusters and shuttlecocks, but Gu Can’s family was different.
Although the county office had posted notices, few people came to Iron Chain Well to draw water today, mostly elderly. They were reserved in the presence of Chen Ping’an and the young boy in green, and since they weren’t familiar from years past, conversation was difficult. They didn’t dare strike up a conversation easily. Two local elders who hadn’t moved away from the town intentionally made way, letting the illustrious Mountain Master Chen draw water first. Chen Ping’an smiled and called out in the local dialect, asking them to draw water first. According to local customs, if they weren’t relatives of the same surname following generational names, one simply addressed them by age. The elders were in their sixties, a generation above Chen Ping’an, so he could call them Uncle or Elder Brother. Chen Lingjun, in turn, would have to address them as Grandfather. If Chen Lingjun called them Grandfather, the boy in green would have to address them as “Tai-Tai,” a local term for both grandfathers and grandmothers, meaning Great-Grandfather or Great-Grandmother.

After Chen Ping’an left with the water, the two elders whispered to each other.

“Chen Ping’an must be forty by now, right?”

“More like it. Looks like he’s only in his thirties, though.”

“I ran into Chen Dequan in the prefecture city not long ago. He said that according to their Chen clan genealogy, Chen Ping’an is three generations below him. He’d have to call him Tai-Tai.”

The other elder spat on the ground and cursed, using an old saying meaning “shameless.”

Chen Lingjun, who was nearby, found it amusing. Not only did he understand the local dialect perfectly, but he spoke it just like a native. The expression “losing the drum” was similar in meaning to “losing face.”

The most distinctive feature of the town’s dialect was that almost all the words were level-toned, with few rising or falling inflections. Although customs often varied even within a few miles, and accents within a hundred, a local accent like that of the town was truly rare.

Chen Ping’an never minded the old-timers’ idle gossip.

But he couldn’t help but recall the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, where he often sent Pei Qian, who always freeloaded, out to draw water. He guessed that the lazy little imp would at most draw half a bucket of water, maybe less. As she carried the bucket, sloshing all the way back to Cao Qinglang’s residence, the well water inside would be almost gone. Entering the house, Pei Qian would hide the water level when raising the bucket with both hands, always turning to the side so that Chen Ping’an couldn’t see inside. She would pretend it was very heavy, swaying and stumbling to the kitchen, where she would secretly scoop up water with a ladle before tiptoeing and trying to lift the bucket as high as possible to pour it into the water vat, making the splashing sound louder. She was a natural-born little actress.

On the way back, he saw an elderly townsman, probably in his seventies, walking along and scattering ash on the ground. With the passage of time, twenty years as a generation, it had been almost thirty years since the Lilac Pearl Grotto Heaven had opened and connected with the outside world. Such sights were becoming less and less common. When Chen Lingjun first came to the Mountain of Fallen Spendor, he had often seen the townsfolk engaged in such activities.

Chen Lingjun asked, “Master, why don’t we ever scatter ash to beckon the dragon at our home?”

Since he had come to the Mountain of Fallen Spendor, his Master had never done anything like that. On the second day of the second month, he simply cracked bamboo poles and ate flatbread.

Chen Ping’an chuckled. “We used to do it at my house when I was a kid. But I don’t know the rules and details, and you need to say a lot of old rhymes to beckon the dragon. I don’t know anything, and I’m afraid I’ll mess it up and violate some taboo, so I figured I’d just skip it.”

In years past, the elders of each household would be busy on the second day of the second month, but they couldn’t just do it haphazardly. There were rules to follow. After the second day of the second month dawned, and when the sun shone brightly, with the light passing over the easternmost fence gate of the town, the townspeople could scatter ash to beckon the dragon. But if it was a rainy day, they could only wait patiently. If it was just cloudy and not raining, they would choose a time. If it rained all day, they could only stare blankly, worrying about the prospects for the coming year.

There were as many as five different ways to beckon the dragon. Each household had its own methods. Generally, prosperous families had more options, while poor families with dwindling descendants had at most two.

Drawing water from Iron Chain Well to bring home was one such method. All the townspeople could do it. They simply drew water and poured it into their own water vat. It was the simplest way to beckon the dragon, like the introduction to an essay. In addition, there were several more elaborate methods, mostly performed by elders in the family who were familiar with the customs. For example, they would choose an old locust tree or a large roadside stone near their home and spread a circle of ash around it. Then, they would have the youngest child in the family, boy or girl, hold a red string tied to a copper coin and place it inside the circle. If the family was wealthy, they would use a red rope to tie a piece of gold or silver. The child would be responsible for pulling the string and dragging the money home. When dragging the copper coin, gold, or silver, they needed to open a gap in the circle, like a dragon spitting water. Water represented wealth, so it was like opening a path to wealth and bringing it into the home. Then, they would put the copper coin into a celadon coin jar, and the head of the household would be responsible for covering the jar, keeping the wealth inside the house. With good fortune, the whole family would naturally have no worries about food and drink in the new year.

In addition, some elders would mutter incantations and spread ash on the ground in front of their doors in a horizontal line to ward off disasters, or spread it in the corners of the walls in the shape of a dragon or snake to block evil spirits. Or, in the courtyard and on the threshing floor, they would first pile up five grains into a small mountain, and then spread ash around it in a circle, like water surrounding a high mountain, to ensure a good harvest and full granaries. Some wealthier families with more fields were even more particular. They had a saying about “sending yellow and welcoming green.” Two people were needed. One person would wear a bag full of ash around their waist and scatter it all the way to the Dragon’s Whisker River outside the town, while the other would use a bag of chaff to lead the dragon home. This meant both leading the field dragon and sending away the God of Poverty while welcoming the God of Wealth.

In the past, if his Master had given this explanation, Chen Lingjun would have just listened and forgotten about it. But today was different. He quickly understood the real reason.

His Master hadn’t lied. When he was young, he hadn’t studied and no one was willing to teach him these methods. He truly didn’t know the rules and taboos of beckoning the dragon. But the real reason was that back then, in his hometown, he himself was probably a taboo.

Chen Ping’an smiled and asked, “Have you figured out the reason?”

Chen Lingjun asked in confusion, “What?”
Chen Ping An said, “Burning grass and trees to ashes, raising mountains, drawing water, binding wood, and managing money – all of these involve the five elements of metal, wood, water, fire, and earth. The reason why each household has different ways of attracting the dragon is that it needs to be in harmony with the five elements of destiny. If there are many people in the family, you can gather all five elements to scatter ashes and attract the dragon. If there are few people, you can only choose two or three.”

Chen Lingjun nodded, saying, “So that’s what you meant, Old Master. I figured it out a long time ago. I thought you were going to talk about something mystical.”

A chestnut landed on his head. Prepared, Chen Lingjun quickly turned his head.

It seems that in every village, there is an uncomprehending simpleton. And Chen Lingjun is like the one who thinks it doesn’t exist. Haha, does it? We don’t have one here, right?

Chen Ping An walked back to Mud Bottle Alley, passing by the Cao family’s ancestral house and glancing at the house next door to his own ancestral home. Then, he walked into the courtyard and, together with Chen Lingjun, poured water into the vat.

Nuan Shu and Xiao Mili had already prepared the bowls and chopsticks, and they sat around the table in the main room, eating the Dragon Beard Noodles, which should have been bland. However, Nuan Shu had specially brought several kinds of wild dried vegetables that she had picked and dried herself, and Chen Ping An and the others ate with relish. Chen Lingjun, sitting at the entrance, finished a bowl, coughed, and tapped his chopsticks lightly, signaling that a certain clumsy girl should be more perceptive. Just as Chen Ping An gently pushed his empty bowl forward, Chen Lingjun immediately got up, taking one white bowl in each hand, asking the Old Master to wait a moment, and trotting happily to the kitchen to ladle more noodles.

Sitting down again, Chen Lingjun picked up a large clump of noodles, blew on them, and asked, “Old Master, is Zheng Dafeng really going to Immortal Capital Mountain?”

Zheng Dafeng had only just returned to Fallen Mountain before leaving again. Chen Lingjun must be the most disappointed. How much more enjoyable it would be to chat and joke with Brother Dafeng every day.

Chen Ping An said, “I will try to persuade him again.”

Don’t look at Zheng Dafeng coming up with a bunch of reasons earlier. In truth, there was only one real reason: to make way for the Immortal Commandant.

Cui Dongshan’s warm invitation was just giving Zheng Dafeng an excuse to persuade Chen Ping An and the Immortal Commandant.

Chen Lingjun was relieved. If the Old Master was willing to personally try to keep him, and with his cooperation and encouragement, there should be some chance of keeping Brother Dafeng.

Chen Lingjun mumbled, “Because I wasn’t clear about the Old Master’s exact time of returning home, Li Huai took Tender Daoist away from the Dragon Boat halfway and went directly to the academy.”

Chen Ping An nodded.

Li Huai and Tender Daoist had previously attended the Yellow Millet Sect’s Opening Ceremony with Chen Lingjun and Guo Zhujiu, but they did not return to Ox Horn Ferry together. This was because Li Huai had to quickly make a trip to Cliff Academy. Having the identity of a Sage was different after all. Some academy matters now required his presence.

In addition, Chen Ping An had already replied to Senior Brother Mao, and sent another letter to Li Huai, saying the same thing: to invite that Tender Daoist to participate in the opening of the Grand Canal in Tongye Continent in the name of Cliff Academy. After all, Tender Daoist had a hidden identity as Li Huai’s retainer. Cliff Academy would not publicize this matter, and both the academy and the Confucian Temple would only secretly record it. Mao Xiaodong, before being promoted to Director of the Rites Palace, had been the Deputy Head of Cliff Academy for many years, in charge of specific affairs. Having him discuss this matter with the academy would naturally be more appropriate than Chen Ping An speaking. Mao Xiaodong’s promotion within the Confucian Temple’s lineage was equivalent to a leapfrog promotion. He was serving as the second-in-command of a Confucian academy, especially the Rites Palace. Cliff Academy and the Great Sui Gao Clan were both honored. As for how Li Huai suddenly became a Sage appointed by the Confucian Temple, it was estimated that the academy and the Gao Clan were still confused to this day. It was an unexpected joy of the kind where they didn’t even know how to brag about it to the outside world. After all, they couldn’t lie and say that Li Huai of their academy was well-read and a first-rate bookworm, right?

The only impression that the old Confucian teachers in the academy might have of student Li Huai was that he studied diligently, but his grades were always at the bottom?

Chen Lingjun sincerely sighed, “He’s become a Sage of the academy. Li Huai is just lucky. My judgment of people has always been accurate, but I was wrong about Li Huai.”

Nuan Shu silently looked at Chen Lingjun, and Xiao Mili sighed, shaking her head.

Chen Lingjun pretended not to see or hear. You two little girls, long hair and short wits, what do you know?

I, the Little River Lord of Imperial River, the Little Dragon King of Fallen Mountain, have been through thick and thin, weathered the Jianghu. Who can compare to me in terms of experience, who understands the dangers of the Jianghu better, except for my Old Master?

Chen Ping An smiled without comment.

Years ago, on the way to Cliff Academy in Great Sui, Li Huai had told Chen Ping An about an embarrassing incident. He said that when he was a child, he was naughty, and no matter what trouble he caused, his mother, who was usually all bark and no bite, had only ever hit him once. And it was a real beating, spanking him until his butt bloomed and he wailed.

It turned out that Li Huai had once been taken by his sister Li Liu to “attract money dragons.” He deliberately dragged the red string copper coins, and with one spin, he messed up the entire circle of ash lines that Li Liu had scattered. He swaggered back home, not knowing the weight of things, and showed it off to his parents as a grand achievement. The woman was so frightened that her face turned pale on the spot. She first grabbed her daughter’s ears and then pinched her arm, scolding Li Liu, the elder sister, loudly, blaming her for not stopping Huai Zi. The woman wasn’t worried about wealth or anything like that. Anyway, the family was already so poor that they probably couldn’t even afford to worship the God of Wealth, and even the God of Poverty probably wouldn’t bother staying in their house. She was just worried that Li Huai’s actions were taboo. Li Huai was young and couldn’t withstand some of the strange stories that the old people often talked about. Therefore, no matter how much the woman loved her son, she rarely enforced family law, and after placing Li Huai on the long bench, she gave him a thrashing with the feather duster. In fact, it was just a show for the heavens to see that they had already taught him a lesson, so don’t be angry. But the woman was still worried. That was the only time she took a gift to the backyard of the Yang family shop, humbly seeking help from her husband’s unreliable master. The old guy knew a lot, and maybe he had a way to remedy the situation, or at least prevent Li Huai from being implicated. At the time, Yang Old Head, smoking and exhaling clouds, still had the same unchanging expressionless face. He only said that it was nothing, nothing taboo or not.

The woman was immediately anxious. Li Huai isn’t your grandson, so you, you old codger, don’t care, right?

Seeing that the woman was about to cry, make a scene, and hang herself, the old man with the dark face had to put away his pipe and told her not to make a fuss, or something bad would really happen.
Although the woman was still half-believing, half-doubting, she immediately shut her mouth. In the end, the old man, who spent the entire year mostly alone gathering herbs in the mountains, rarely taking a step outside his home, tucked his smoking pipe into his waistband and ventured out.

Old Man Yang went to the cluttered side room and retrieved a sack. With an expressionless face, the old man left a sentence, telling the woman not to follow.

The woman wasn’t afraid of this heartless, ungrateful old codger, but she feared those ethereal, intangible old customs, so she obediently complied and didn’t follow.

After Old Man Yang left the apothecary, as she was about to leave, the woman told her daughter, Li Liu, to secretly take home the “visiting gift” she had placed on the apothecary’s front counter earlier.

According to the woman’s calculations, she wouldn’t let the old man see the gifts she had brought for this visit. If she could get things done after going to the backyard of the apothecary, she would grit her teeth and give them away. If they were useless, would the old fellow even have the face to accept the gifts? Judging from the way the old codger looked and acted when he went out, it seemed that success was almost assured. Since they were practically family anyway, and today wasn’t a special occasion, why bother giving any gifts?