So, during the holidays, just to bring a bit of good luck, the townsfolk could accept spending ten coins here. But if they were truly troubled, no one would be willing to come here and be taken for a fool. To say this Daoist was a complete fraud would be unfair—after all, the town was only so big. If he were just putting on airs and swindling people, he would have been driven out long ago. So, this young Daoist’s real skills clearly weren’t in fortune-telling or interpreting lots. On the contrary, for minor ailments or misfortunes, many people would recover quickly after drinking a bowl of his talisman water—it was quite effective.

The young Daoist shook his head and said, “I conduct myself with honesty, never cheating the young or old. As agreed, interpreting the lot and writing a talisman together costs you five coins.”

Ethan Brooks quietly retorted, “It’s three coins.”

The Daoist laughed heartily, “If you happen to draw the very best lot, wouldn’t it be five coins then?”

Ethan Brooks made up his mind, reached for the bamboo lot tube, then suddenly looked up and asked, “Daoist, how did you know I happened to have exactly five coins on me?”

The Daoist sat up straight. “I can see a person’s fortune and wealth quite accurately.”

Ethan Brooks thought for a moment, then picked up the lot tube.

The Daoist smiled and said, “Young man, don’t be nervous. What is meant to be yours will come to you, and what isn’t, don’t force. Face the uncertainties of life with a calm heart—that’s the best way to handle everything.”

Ethan Brooks put the lot tube back on the table, his expression solemn, and asked, “Daoist, if I give you all five coins and don’t draw a lot, could you just write the talisman on the yellow paper even better than usual?”

The Daoist smiled as usual, thought for a moment, then nodded. “Alright.”

On the table, brush, ink, inkstone, and paper were already prepared. The Daoist carefully asked for the names, birthplaces, and birthdates of Ethan Brooks’s parents, then pulled out a sheet of yellow talisman paper and quickly finished writing in one go.

As for what he wrote, Ethan Brooks had no idea.

Setting down the brush, the young Daoist picked up the talisman and blew on the ink. “When you get home, stand inside the threshold, and burn the yellow paper outside the threshold. That’s all.”

The boy solemnly accepted the talisman, carefully treasured it, and didn’t forget to place the five copper coins on the table, bowing in thanks.

The young Daoist waved his hand, signaling the boy to go about his business.

Ethan Brooks took off running to deliver the last letter.

The Daoist lounged lazily in his chair, glanced at the coins, then bent over and swept them toward himself.

Just then, a small, delicate yellow sparrow swooped down from above, landed on the table, pecked at one of the coins, quickly lost interest, and flew away.

“The yellow sparrow first wishes to bring flowers, but the peach blossoms in your yard have yet to bloom.”

After reciting this line of poetry, the Daoist made a show of brushing his sleeve with a sigh. “If fate gives you eight feet, don’t ask for ten.”

With that sweep of his sleeve, two bamboo lots slipped out and fell to the ground. The Daoist cried out, quickly picked them up, then furtively looked around. Seeing no one was paying attention, he breathed a sigh of relief and tucked the two lots back into his wide sleeve.

The young Daoist cleared his throat, straightened his face, and continued to wait for the next customer.

He couldn’t help but sigh—after all, it really was easier to make money from women.

In fact, the two bamboo lots hidden in the young Daoist’s sleeve—one was the very best lot, the other the very worst—were both used to make big money.

Not something to be shared with outsiders.

Naturally, the boy knew nothing of these tricks. Light on his feet, he made his way to the village schoolhouse, surrounded by lush bamboo groves, vibrant with green.

Ethan Brooks slowed his steps as a deep, mellow voice of a middle-aged man sounded from inside, “The sun rises bright, the lambskin coat is damp.”

Then came a chorus of clear, childish voices, “The sun rises bright, the lambskin coat is damp.”

Ethan Brooks looked up. The sun was rising in the east, brilliant and vast.

The boy stood there, lost in thought.

When he came back to himself, the young students were swaying their heads, reciting a passage as their teacher required: “At the time of the awakening of insects, heaven and earth come alive, all things begin to flourish. Sleep early, rise early, walk widely in the courtyard, a gentleman walks slowly to nurture his will…”

Ethan Brooks stood at the schoolhouse door, hesitating to speak.

A middle-aged scholar with graying temples turned and walked out gently.

Ethan Brooks handed over the letter with both hands, respectfully saying, “This is your letter, sir.”

The tall man in a blue robe took the envelope and said warmly, “If you have free time, you’re welcome to come and listen in.”

Ethan Brooks felt a bit awkward—after all, he might not really have time to attend the teacher’s lessons, and he didn’t want to lie.

The man smiled, understanding, and said, “No matter. All the principles are in the books, but being a good person is learned outside of them. Go on, take care of your business.”

Ethan Brooks breathed a sigh of relief and took his leave.

After running quite a distance, the boy couldn’t help but turn back for a look.

He saw the teacher still standing at the doorway, his figure bathed in sunlight, looking from afar almost like an immortal.

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Volume One: The Caged Sparrow

Chapter Four: The Yellow Bird

If he had never been to Fulu Street or Taoye Alley, Ethan Brooks might never have realized how dark and narrow Mud Bottle Alley was. Yet the straw-sandaled boy didn’t feel disappointed at all; instead, he finally felt at ease. Smiling, he stretched out his hands, palms just touching the yellow-mud walls on either side. He remembered that three or four years ago, Ethan Brooks could only reach the walls with his fingertips.