The second day of the second lunar month was known as the Longtaitou Festival, the day the dragon was said to raise its head.
In the darkness of a secluded lane called Porcelain Bowl Alley, a thin, lonely boy observed the old tradition. He held a candle in one hand and a peach branch in the other. He traced the flickering light across the ceiling, the walls, and the simple wooden bed in his room, tapping the branch against each surface as he went, a ritual to drive out snakes, scorpions, and centipedes.
As he worked, he chanted an old mantra passed down for generations in the small town: "On the second day of the second month, the candle illuminates the ceiling, while the peach branch taps the walls, leaving no place for snakes and insects to hide."
The boy's name was Zhao An. His parents had died when he was very young. He lived in a town famous for its chinaware; since the founding of the nation, it had borne the great responsibility of producing porcelain for the imperial court. Imperial officials were always stationed here, overseeing the official kilns.
Orphaned and with no one to rely on, Zhao An had become a potter at a young age. He started with menial labor, toiling for years under a reluctant, ill-tempered master. By a cruel twist of fate, just as he was beginning to grasp the fundamentals of firing pottery, the town lost its imperial commission. Overnight, the dozens of massive, coiling-dragon kilns that gave the town its life were ordered shut by the authorities.
Zhao An set down the freshly snapped peach branch and blew out the candle. He went outside and sat on the steps, looking up at the star-strewn sky.
He could still clearly recall his old master, a man with the surname Sun who had only ever been willing to call him half a disciple. One late autumn morning last year, he’d found the old man seated peacefully in a small bamboo chair, facing the kiln with his eyes closed, having passed away in his sleep.
But men as unyielding and devoted as Old Man Sun were a minority.
For generations, the potters of the small town had known only this one trade. They didn't dare illegally produce imperial ware, nor could they sell their existing stock to commoners. They had to find other ways to survive. At just fourteen, Zhao An was cast out. He returned to Porcelain Bowl Alley, to this dilapidated old house, and continued his impoverished existence. Even if he’d wanted to be a profligate son, there was no family fortune left to squander.
He drifted for a while, unable to find any work. His meager savings were just enough to keep him from starving. A few days ago, he’d heard that a foreign blacksmith with the surname Tang had arrived in Qilin Lane, a few streets over. The old blacksmith announced he was taking on seven or eight apprentices. There would be no wages, but meals would be provided.
Zhao An went immediately to try his luck, but the old blacksmith gave him a single sidelong glance before turning him away. Zhao An was perplexed. Did a blacksmith rely on handsome features rather than the strength of his arms?
Zhao An might look frail, but his strength was considerable, built from years of molding clay and firing kilns. He had also traveled extensively with Old Man Sun, carrying out the most tiresome and degrading tasks without complaint. Despite all this, Old Man Sun had never taken a liking to him.
The old man was always disdainful of Zhao An's lack of talent, especially when compared to his most prized disciple, Wei Junjie. One couldn't blame Old Man Sun for his favoritism. A master could only teach the fundamentals; a disciple’s own talent and effort determined their path. As an example of the gulf between them, Wei Junjie had mastered the monotonous task of molding clay in half a year. It had taken Zhao An three.
Though he might never use the skill again, Zhao An still went through his usual routine. He closed his eyes, picturing a bluestone slab and a pottery wheel before him, and began to simulate the motions of molding clay, honing his craft.
Every fifteen minutes, he took a short break to shake out his wrists. Only when he was completely exhausted did he rise to his feet and stroll through the yard, stretching his limbs. No one had taught him this; it was a routine of his own making.
Suddenly, a harsh jeer shattered the quiet. Zhao An stopped. Just as he expected, a boy about his age was squatting atop the wall, looking down at him with a sneer, making no effort to hide his disdain.
The boy was an old neighbor, said to be the illegitimate son of the former kiln supervision official. That official, fearing impeachment by imperial censors, had returned to the capital for debriefing, leaving his son in the care of his successor and close friend.
Now that the town had inexplicably lost its imperial commission, the new kiln supervision official found himself jobless. He had little interest in looking after the illegitimate child of a court colleague. After leaving behind some money, he had hurried to the capital himself to salvage his political connections.
The boy, unaware he had been abandoned, continued to live a carefree life. He wandered the town with his personal maidservant, never working a day, never worrying about money.
The earthen walls separating the homes in Porcelain Bowl Alley were low, and the boy could have easily looked over from his own yard. But when speaking to Zhao An, he always preferred to squat on top of the wall.
The neighbor’s name was Lin Zixuan, a name far more sophisticated than Zhao An’s simple one. Even his personal maidservant, Yuechan, had a name of uncommon elegance.
At this moment, Yuechan was standing on the other side of the wall, her large, round eyes filled with a timid apprehension.
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the entrance to the courtyard. "Are you willing to sell that maidservant?"
Startled, Lin Zixuan turned to see a stranger standing outside the courtyard—a young boy in brocade robes, a faint smile on his face.
Beside the boy stood a tall, broad-shouldered old man with a fair complexion and a benevolent expression. The old man’s eyes were slightly narrowed, his gaze sweeping over the three youths in the neighboring yards.
His eyes passed over Zhao An without pause but lingered on Lin Zixuan and his maidservant. The smile on his face slowly widened.
Lin Zixuan glanced at the brocade-robed boy out of the corner of his eye. "Sure, why not?"
"How much?" the brocade-robed boy asked, his smile unwavering.
Yuechan's eyes widened in disbelief, making her look like a frightened fawn.
Lin Zixuan rolled his eyes and raised a finger, wagging it back and forth. "Ten thousand taels of silver!"
The brocade-robed boy's expression didn't change. He nodded. "Alright, I'll take her."
He didn't seem to be joking. Lin Zixuan hurriedly amended, "Actually, I want twenty thousand taels of gold!"
An amused smile touched the boy's lips. "I was just fooling around."
Lin Zixuan was not amused.
The boy paid him no further mind, turning his attention to Zhao An. "It's thanks to you I was able to buy that carp today. I took it home, and the more I looked at it, the more I liked it. I decided I had to thank you in person, so I had Grandpa Bai bring me here right away."
He tossed a heavy, embroidered pouch to Zhao An, then gave a bright smile. "This is for you. Now we're even."
Zhao An was about to speak, but the boy in brocade had already turned and left, leaving him staring after them with a frown.
Earlier that day, he had spotted a middle-aged man carrying a fish basket. Inside, a golden carp the length of a man’s hand thrashed about vigorously. Zhao An thought the fish looked festive and auspicious, and he asked the man if he would sell it for ten copper coins.
The man had only intended to eat the fish himself, but seeing a chance for profit, he demanded an exorbitant thirty copper coins. The impoverished Zhao An didn't have that kind of money but couldn't bring himself to walk away.
He began to haggle, offering fifteen, then twenty copper coins. Just as the man was starting to relent, the brocade-robed boy and the old man happened by. They bought the carp and the basket for fifty copper coins without a moment's hesitation, leaving Zhao An to watch wistfully.
After glaring at the departing figures for a moment, Lin Zixuan looked away with a resentful expression and jumped down from the wall. A thought seemed to occur to him, and he turned to Zhao An. "Do you remember that four-leg from last month?"
Zhao An nodded.
He didn't just remember it; the memory was crystal clear.
According to a tradition passed down for centuries in the town, it was a good omen when a snake-like creature entered one's home. It was taboo to chase it out or kill it. On the first day of the first lunar month, as Lin Zixuan was sunbathing on his doorstep, a creature colloquially known as a four-legged snake had tried to scurry into his house right under his nose.
Lin Zixuan had grabbed the creature and thrown it out of the yard. To his surprise, though battered and disoriented, it seemed only to grow more determined with each failure, repeatedly trying to crawl back into the house.
Never one for superstitions, Lin Zixuan was so infuriated by the creature’s persistence that he threw it into Zhao An's yard in a fit of rage. The next day, to his bewilderment, he discovered that same four-legged snake curled up under his own bed.
Lin Zixuan felt Yuechan tug on his sleeve. A silent understanding passed between them, and he stopped himself from saying what he had intended.
He had been about to say that the hideous four-legged snake had recently developed a bulge on its forehead, as if a horn were about to sprout.
Instead, he said something else. "Yuechan and I will probably be leaving next month."
Zhao An let out a soft sigh. "Take care of yourselves."
"There are some things I definitely won't be able to take with me," Lin Zixuan said, half-joking. "You'd better not steal anything while I'm gone!"
Zhao An shook his head.
Lin Zixuan burst out laughing and poked Zhao An with a finger, a mischievous grin on his face. "You're such a coward. No wonder poor families never raise noble sons. You're destined to be bullied your whole life. You'll probably suffer the same fate in the next one, too!"
Zhao An said nothing.
The two boys returned to their respective homes. Zhao An closed his door, lay down on his plank bed, and closed his eyes. He murmured quietly to himself, "Peace for the year. Safety for the year. May I be safe and peaceful all year round."