After uttering these words, the scholar gave a self-deprecating smile. Nowadays, what precious treasures could possibly belong to Qi Jingchun's disciples? A room filled with children attending the basic Confucian classics, each paying merely three hundred copper coins a year as tuition—some from impoverished families offering no more than three strips of cured meat.
Qi Jingchun glanced at the boy who stubbornly refused to relent and asked, "Deep down, you don't truly wish to kill him, do you? But the problem is, this man seems intent on killing you no matter what. So, will you choose to kill him, decisively and cleanly, to preserve your own life for now, leaving tomorrow's troubles for tomorrow? Or do you hope to let matters rest peacefully, to turn great conflicts into small ones, and small ones into nothing? Isn't that so?"
The boy, who often listened to the neighboring reading seeds reciting poetry and prose, blurted out, "Sir, how do you teach me?"
Qi Jingchun smiled and said, "Chen Ping'an, why don't you try loosening your right hand first, then decide whether to follow me on a little walk? There are matters for which I bear responsibility and must explain to you."
After a moment's hesitation, Chen Ping'an relaxed the fingers of his right hand and was astonished to see that Fu Nanhua remained utterly still—no movement in his gaze, hair, or breath. Once Qi Jingchun activated the grand formation, the town returned to stillness.
"Keep close to my steps, and try not to stray more than ten paces," Qi Jingchun whispered.
The scholar, robes flowing and figure ethereal, led the way to the alley's end, Chen Ping'an following closely behind. Glancing down at his left palm, he saw mangled flesh exposing white bone, yet the visible blood no longer flowed.
Qi Jingchun walked ahead, smiling gently, "Chen Ping'an, do you believe in immortals, spirits, demons, and ghosts?"
Chen Ping'an nodded, "I do. When I was young, my mother often told old tales, urging me to believe that good begets good, evil begets evil. She said this most of all, so I remember it clearly. Other stories spoke of water ghosts dragging children in streams, night judges at the ruined temple north of town, and how the door gods we paste on our doors come alive at night to protect our homes. I used to doubt these things, but… now I mostly believe them."
Qi Jingchun replied softly, "Some of what she said is true, some not. As for the notion of karmic justice, it's hard to define, because the common folk, emperors, and immortal cultivators each have different standards of good and evil. Their conclusions inevitably diverge."
Hiding a shard of porcelain, Chen Ping'an quickened his pace to walk beside the scholar and asked, "Master Qi, may I ask you a question?"
Qi Jingchun, as if seeing through the boy's thoughts, replied calmly, "This town is the final resting place of the last true dragon in the world. Countless dragons and dragon kin regard this place as the nexus of the most potent fate energy, destined to 'emerge' one day. Yet for three thousand years, no such emergence has occurred. However, children born here are far superior in constitution, temperament, and fortune compared to their peers outside. Even the famed immortal clans of Eastern Baoping Continent cannot compare. Of course, not every child in this town is gifted beyond measure."
He smiled, avoiding further detail so as not to dishearten the boy, then shifted topics, "The elders who took part in the dragon-slaying catastrophe were almost all grievously wounded. Many settled here, building humble abodes to cultivate, embracing death with composure. Some couples survived by chance, forming bonds forged in battle. Over three millennia, the town flourished to its present scale. Under the Dali Kingdom, it was first called Daze Village, later renamed Longyuan by a sage. Then, to avoid tabooing the name of a Dali emperor, it was altered again…"
Unable to contain himself, the boy interrupted softly, clenching his fists with longing, "Sir, what I really want to ask is—what kind of people were my parents?"
Qi Jingchun pondered, "Since that wandering Daoist already revealed the heavenly secret to you, I may as well follow his lead. In my memory, your father was a simple, gentle man of average talent—not worth being taken from this town. To some, he was a burden, a losing proposition. Perhaps in anger, or due to hardship, the porcelain buyers from outside tampered with your father's 'destiny porcelain.' After that, misfortune befell him, and you and your mother suffered as well. Later, for reasons unknown, he accidentally discovered the secret of the destiny porcelain—that once it was opened and taken away from the town, one would become a lifelong puppet. He secretly smashed your piece, if memory serves me right, it was a porcelain paperweight."
Qi Jingchun's voice deepened, "Every year, newborns here are assigned a secret code, and the town's specialists extract a drop of their blood to infuse into the destiny porcelain crafted for them. For girls, the kiln burns for six years straight; for boys, nine years—never ceasing. A child's talent is like the quality of ordinary porcelain—up to fate and luck. Yet the stakes placed on bidding for destiny porcelain are immense. Though your aptitude is mediocre, when your father shattered that paperweight, the porcelain buyers outside were furious beyond measure."
"As for your mother, she was a gentle, serene woman," Qi Jingchun added with a smile, "When she married your father, many peers in town were quite dismayed. To be honest, recounting the intimate details of their lives is difficult for me. Since coming here, teaching is only part of what I do."
Chen Ping'an murmured in acknowledgment, wiping his face haphazardly with his hand, seemingly forgetting his injured left hand, stained with blood, reluctant to use his sleeve.
They passed under the twelve-foot archway. Qi Jingchun, not meeting his gaze, spoke candidly, "When the true dragon fell here, four sages appeared to forge a pact. Every sixty years, one guardian is stationed here to watch over the dragon's lingering aura. There was debate whether to eradicate it completely, but sharing such forbidden secrets could endanger you. Broadly, the Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist teachings, along with a military tradition, dominate the stewardship, while other sects, sacred lands, and noble clans of Eastern Baoping Continent hold lesser shares. It's laughable that within a century, holding a 'porcelain-buying' quota has become a hallmark of a sect's or family's prestige."
Chen Ping'an said, "Sir, I don't fully understand all this, but I remember it. Knowing my parents were good people is enough for me."
Qi Jingchun smiled, "I don't expect you to grasp it all now. This is groundwork. Otherwise, simply telling you not to kill Fu Nanhua, you wouldn't listen. The reason I urge you not to kill is not out of sympathy, nor to gain favor from Fu Nanhua or Old Dragon City later. Quite the opposite. My Confucian disciples embrace engagement with the world and resent the reckless cruelty among cultivators. If I were the age you were when I first apprenticed at the Cliffside Academy, whether it's Liu Zhimao, the River-Cutting Lord, or Fu Nanhua, the young lord of Old Dragon City, none of them would still be alive—they'd have been reduced to ashes with a single strike from me."
At this moment, the Qi before the boy, though speaking gently and walking with refined grace, felt like a different person altogether. Like Old Yao drunk and boastful, claiming their porcelain was fit for the emperor, no one else's could compare. When Qi spoke of striking others to dust, the tone differed, but the expression was the same.
Qi Jingchun frowned, looking toward Niping Alley, as if listening to voices. Though no irritation showed, his displeasure was unmistakable. Finally, he said coldly, "Leave at once!"
Chen Ping'an looked bewildered. Qi Jingchun explained, "That storyteller, Liu Zhimao, the River-Cutting Lord, is actually a rogue Daoist of mediocre cultivation and poor character. The feud between Cai Jinjian, Fu Nanhua, and you was largely stirred up by him. He even planted a malicious talisman in your heart—a four-character curse meaning 'desperate to die,' an insidious method."
Chen Ping'an silently memorized the name Liu Zhimao.
Qi Jingchun sighed, "Curious why I haven't acted?"
Chen Ping'an shook his head.
Qi Jingchun continued, "This realm is like an ancient porcelain, weathered by sun and wind for three thousand years, fractured and fragile. You are outsiders, protected by a grand formation. As long as no one goes too far, the porcelain won't shatter completely. But I hold this porcelain in my hands. Every move I make affects its cracks. No matter what I do, the fractures spread. If it were only the porcelain breaking, that would be one thing. But the fate of five or six thousand souls, in this life and the next, rests with me. How could I be careless?"
These long-repressed words were spoken so quietly that even Chen Ping'an's keen ears barely caught them.
Qi Jingchun noticed the boy wiping his face with his right hand. They had reached the iron-locked well in Apricot Blossom Alley, where a woman was drawing water.
Qi Jingchun asked, "If a stranger falls into the well and saving them means you risk your own life, would you save them?"
Chen Ping'an did not hesitate: "I would."
Qi Jingchun nodded, "Then, keep that in mind. In this place, kindness is the sharpest weapon."