As the sky began to gently brighten, though it was not yet time for the roosters' dawn chorus, Chen Ping'an had already risen from his bed. The thin quilt offered little warmth, a remnant of his apprenticeship at the porcelain kiln, where early mornings and late nights became a steadfast routine. He pushed open the door of his modest home and stepped into the small yard, the soft earth beneath his feet. Taking a deep, refreshing breath and stretching his limbs, Chen Ping'an prepared himself for the day ahead before heading out. Turning his head, he noticed a graceful figure bent in concentration, carrying a wooden bucket of water with both hands and using her shoulder to nudge open the gate of her courtyard. It was Song Jixin's maid, likely returning from the Iron-Chained Well in Apricot Alley, her early labor evident in the burden she bore.
Chen Ping'an quickly turned his gaze away and made his way through the winding streets and alleys, jogging toward the eastern side of town. His home in Mud Bottle Alley was to the west, while the eastern gate, manned by a diligent sentry, oversaw commercial traffic, night patrols, and served as the entry point for letters arriving from outside the town. This was where Chen Ping'an was headed, as he had secured a modest but reliable source of income: delivering letters to the townspeople, earning a copper coin for each one. He had taken on this task since the second day of the second lunar month.
According to Song Jixin, Chen Ping'an's fate seemed inextricably linked with poverty, as though destiny itself would not allow him to hold onto even the smallest fortune that occasionally came his way. Song Jixin often spoke in cryptic, enigmatic terms, filling his conversations with obscure quotations that left Chen Ping'an scratching his head in confusion. For example, just a couple of days ago, Song Jixin had muttered something about the bone-chilling cold of late spring being able to claim the life of a young man. This statement left Chen Ping'an utterly puzzled. Yet, the young man had personally witnessed how, after the apparent warmth of winter's thaw, spring could unexpectedly return with an icy grip. Song Jixin had called this "late spring cold," likening it to a sudden, devastating counterattack on the battlefield, one that could prove fatal to many.
The town itself was unprotected by walls, as it was relatively free from thieves and bandits. As such, what passed for a gate was little more than a line of dilapidated, ramshackle fences, barely wide enough for pedestrians and carts to pass through, serving merely as a symbolic façade for the town.
As Chen Ping'an jogged past Apricot Alley, he noticed a group of women and children gathered around the Iron-Chained Well, their chatter blending with the creaky groans of the waterwheel.
Turning another corner, Chen Ping'an heard the familiar sound of reading coming from nearby. He recognized the modest rural schoolhouse, funded by a handful of the town's more affluent families. The teacher, an outsider, had brought his expertise from afar. During Chen Ping'an's younger days, he had often sneaked over, crouching beside the window and listening eagerly, soaking up every word. Despite the teacher's stern demeanor during lessons, he never scolded or discouraged children like Chen Ping'an who "eavesdropped" with such keen curiosity. However, after Chen Ping'an left for his apprenticeship at the royal kiln beyond the town's borders, he never returned to the schoolhouse again.
Further ahead, Chen Ping'an came upon a stone archway, adorned with twelve majestic pillars, locally known as the Crab Archway. Song Jixin and Liu Xianyang had vastly different opinions about its true name. Referring to an ancient text, the Local Gazetteer, Song Jixin firmly insisted that it had originally been called the University Scholar Archway, a royal honor bestowed to commemorate a historical official's exceptional achievements in both governance and martial valor. On the other hand, Liu Xianyang, who shared Chen Ping'an's lack of sophistication, maintained that the archway had been known simply as the Crab Archway for centuries and saw no reason to give it such an obscure name as the University Scholar Archway. Liu Xianyang even asked Song Jixin with a puzzled look, "Just how grand is a university scholar's official hat? Bigger than the mouth of the Iron-Chained Well?" The question left Song Jixin visibly embarrassed, his face flushing red.
Chen Ping'an dashed around the impressive twelve-pillared archway, his eyes catching the four bold, quirky characters etched into each side: "Be Righteous and Unyielding," "Let Words Be Rare and Natural," "Seek Not Outwardly," and "Vitality Soaring Like a Bull." Song Jixin explained that, with the exception of one set, the other three inscriptions had been defaced and tampered with over time. However, Chen Ping'an paid little attention to these details. He had never given them much thought, and even if he had wanted to explore further, it would have been in vain, as he was unfamiliar with the Local Gazetteer, the publication that Song Jixin often referenced.
Just past the archway stood a lush, ancient locust tree. Beneath its sprawling canopy, someone had thoughtfully placed a slightly chopped-down tree trunk atop two emerald green stone slabs, creating a cozy makeshift bench. During the sweltering summer months, the townsfolk would gather here for some respite from the heat. The wealthier families would bring baskets brimming with chilled fruit from the nearby well, and once the children had their fill, they would form little groups and play merrily in the cool shade beneath the tree.
Chen Ping'an, accustomed to climbing mountains and wading through rivers, arrived at the fence gate without breaking a sweat. He paused in front of the lonely yellow mud house, his heart steady and breath unhurried.