Opening the Door

The sky was faintly bright, not yet time for the roosters to crow, but Chen Ping'an had already gotten up. The thin quilt couldn't retain any warmth, and Chen Ping'an had developed the habit of rising early and sleeping late during his apprenticeship in ceramics. He opened the door and stepped into the soft earth of the small courtyard, took a deep breath, stretched, and walked out. Turning his head, he saw a slender figure bending over, carrying a wooden bucket of water, pushing open the courtyard gate with her shoulder. It was Song Jixin's maid, who had just returned from fetching water at the iron lock well in Xinghua Alley.

Chen Ping'an turned away and jogged through the streets and alleys toward the east side of the town. Niping Alley was on the west side, and at the easternmost gate of the town, there was a person in charge of the entry and exit of merchants and night patrols. This person also handled the collection and delivery of letters sent from outside. Chen Ping'an's next task was to deliver these letters to the townspeople, earning a copper coin for each letter. This job, which he had struggled to secure, was set to start after the Dragon Raises Its Head on the second day of the second month.

According to Song Jixin, he was born with a poor fate, and even if fortune knocked on his door, Chen Ping'an wouldn't be able to keep it. Song Jixin often spoke in cryptic terms, likely lifted from books, which Chen Ping'an seldom understood. For instance, a few days ago, Song Jixin mentioned something about "the biting spring cold kills the youth," which made no sense to Chen Ping'an. However, he did experience that after winter, the early spring could be even colder, a period known locally as "returning spring cold," akin to a battlefield maneuver, deadly enough to claim lives.

The town had no enclosing walls, and not even bandits or thieves were common, so what was nominally a city gate was just a row of old, rickety fences, barely enough to let people and carts through. As Chen Ping'an jogged past Xinghua Alley, he saw many women and children gathered around the iron lock well, the winch squeaking continuously.

Rounding another street, he heard familiar sounds of reading. There was a local school funded by a few wealthy families in town, with a teacher from another region. When Chen Ping'an was young, he often hid outside the window, listening in. The teacher was strict but did not chase away the children who "borrowed" his lessons. However, after becoming an apprentice at an outdoor kiln, Chen Ping'an stopped visiting the school.

Passing by a stone archway with twelve stone pillars, known locally as the Crab Archway due to its appearance, Chen Ping'an saw the engravings, each with four characters, in different ancient scripts. Song Jixin claimed that this archway was called the Grand Academician's Arch, an imperial gift commemorating a great official's literary and martial achievements. In contrast, Liu Xianyang, who shared Chen Ping'an's rustic background, insisted it was just the Crab Archway, a name used for centuries.

Circling the arch, Chen Ping'an noted the inscriptions: "Taking responsibility without hesitation," "Naturally eloquent," "Do not seek externally," and "Spirit reaches the heavens." Song Jixin had said that all but one of these had been altered or defaced at some point. Chen Ping'an had never given it much thought and wouldn't have understood even if he had tried.

Not far beyond the arch, he saw an old locust tree with lush foliage. Underneath, someone had placed a tree trunk, roughly chopped and supported at both ends by bluestone slabs, serving as a makeshift bench. During summer, townspeople liked to cool off there, and wealthier families would bring baskets of chilled fruits from the well. Children, after eating their fill, would play and frolic in the shade.

Accustomed to climbing mountains and wading rivers, Chen Ping'an arrived at the gate's vicinity, stopping in front of a lone yellow mud house, his breath steady. Few outsiders visited the town, and with the official kilns closed, new faces were even rarer. Old Yao, in a drunken state, had once boasted to his apprentices that they produced ceramics for the emperor and empress, and anyone else caught possessing them would be beheaded.

Today, however, Chen Ping'an saw several people waiting at the gate—seven or eight strangers, men and women, young and old. They were all unfamiliar faces, and townspeople rarely used the east gate unless absolutely necessary.

As he and the outsiders stared at each other through the wooden fence, Chen Ping'an envied their thick, warm clothing.

Outside, the people seemed divided into several groups, mostly indifferent, with a few looking past Chen Ping'an toward the town.

Chen Ping'an wondered if they were unaware that the imperial kilns were shut down or if they knew and hoped to take advantage.

A young man with a peculiar high hat, a green jade pendant at his waist, seemed impatient. He stepped forward to push the unlocked gate but stopped abruptly, retracting his hand and smiling at Chen Ping'an without a word. The others behind him displayed a range of subtle emotions: disappointment, amusement, frowns, and mockery.

Just then, a disheveled middle-aged man flung open the gate, cursing Chen Ping'an, "You little brat, are you here to rush me to my grave so early? In such a hurry to join your dead parents?"

Chen Ping'an rolled his eyes, unfazed by the insults. Living in this backwater with few books, he was used to such treatment. Besides, this gatekeeper was often mocked by the townsfolk, especially the bold women who sometimes even hit him. This man loved boasting to children about his fictitious exploits, making grandiose claims about bloody battles at the gate.

The man grumbled, "Your business can wait."

Nobody in town took this gatekeeper seriously. However, he controlled whether outsiders could enter the town.

He opened the gate, sometimes taking small embroidered pouches from the newcomers, slipping them into his sleeve before letting them in.

Chen Ping'an stepped aside as the eight people entered in five groups. The young man with the high hat and green pendant went first, followed by two seven or eight-year-old children, a boy in a festive red robe and a girl as delicate as fine porcelain.

The boy, shorter than Chen Ping'an, mouthed two provocative words as he passed.

A middle-aged woman with the boy coughed lightly, making him restrain himself.

The girl, holding the hand of a burly old man, turned to Chen Ping'an and spoke rapidly, pointing at the boy. Chen Ping'an didn't understand her but guessed she was complaining.

The old man glanced at Chen Ping'an, who instinctively stepped back, like a mouse seeing a cat. The girl, losing interest, turned away, not sparing another glance as if looking again would soil her eyes.

Chen Ping'an might be inexperienced, but he could read expressions.

After they had gone, the gatekeeper asked, "Want to know what they said?"

Chen Ping'an nodded, "Yes."

The man laughed, "They said you look handsome, all good things."

Chen Ping'an grimaced, thinking he was being taken for a fool.

The man, seeing through him, laughed harder, "If you weren't a fool, would I let you deliver letters?"

Chen Ping'an didn't argue, afraid to offend the man and lose his pay.

The gatekeeper went into his house and returned with a stack of letters, about a dozen. Handing them to Chen Ping'an, he asked, "Do you believe that fools have luck and good people get good returns?"

Chen Ping'an held out his hand, "You promised a copper coin per letter."

The man, annoyed, slapped five coins into Chen Ping'an's hand, "I'll owe you the rest!"