In an instant, a yellow sparrow swooped down onto the table, lowered its head, and gently pecked at the copper coin. Then it took the coin in its beak, looked up at the young Daoist, its eyes lively and intelligent, no different from a human's.

The Daoist said softly, “Go on, this is no place to linger.”

The yellow sparrow vanished in a flash.

The young Daoist looked around, and finally his gaze rested on the tall archway in the distance, right across from the plaque inscribed with the four characters “Qi Chong Dou Niu.” He sighed, “What a pity.”

Finally, the Daoist added, “If I could take it outside and sell it, it’d fetch at least a thousand or eight hundred taels of silver, wouldn’t it?”

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Volume One: The Caged Sparrow

Chapter Five: Revealing the Truth

Jason Smith brought the maid Evan to the old locust tree, only to find the shade beneath it packed with people—nearly fifty in all—sitting on benches and chairs they’d brought from home. More children were tugging their elders over to join the excitement.

Jason Smith stood side by side with her at the edge of the shade, and saw an old man standing under the tree, holding a large white bowl in one hand, the other hand clasped behind his back. His expression was animated as he spoke loudly: “I’ve just described the general course of the dragon vein, now let me tell you about the true dragon. Tsk tsk, this is truly remarkable. About three thousand years ago, an extraordinary immortal appeared in the world. He first devoted himself to cultivation in a certain blessed land, attained the Dao, and then traveled the world alone with his sword, his spirit as sharp as his blade. For some reason, this man was at odds with flood dragons. For three hundred years, wherever there were flood dragons, he slew them, until there were no true dragons left in the world, and only then did he stop. In the end, he vanished without a trace. Some say he went to the highest realm of Daoist law to discuss the Dao with the Dao Ancestor; others say he traveled to the distant Western Pure Land to debate scriptures with the Buddha; still others claim he personally guards the gates of Fengdu, the underworld, to prevent evil spirits from wreaking havoc in the mortal world…”

The old man spoke so passionately that he was spitting as he talked, but all the townsfolk below remained unmoved, their faces blank with confusion.

The maid asked in a low, curious voice, “What is ‘three feet of spirit’?”

Jason Smith smiled and said, “It means a sword.”

The maid replied irritably, “Young master, this old man really likes to show off his learning, but he doesn’t speak plainly.”

Jason Smith glanced at the old man and said gloatingly, “There aren’t many literate people in our town. This storyteller is like winking at a blind man.”

The maid asked again, “What is a blessed land? Can anyone really live for three hundred years? And that Fengdu underworld—isn’t that a place only the dead can go?”

Jason Smith was stumped by the questions, but unwilling to show ignorance, he replied offhandedly, “It’s all nonsense. He’s probably read a few second-rate unofficial histories and is using them to fool the country bumpkins.”

At that moment, Jason Smith keenly noticed that the old man glanced at him, whether intentionally or not. Although it was just a fleeting look, Jason Smith still caught it, but the youth didn’t take it to heart, thinking it was just a coincidence.

The maid looked up at the old locust tree. Dappled light filtered through the leaves, falling down in specks. She instinctively narrowed her eyes.

Jason Smith turned to look at her, and suddenly froze.

His maid now had a profile that was just beginning to lose its baby fat. She seemed very different from the thin, shriveled little servant girl in his memory.

According to the town’s customs, when a woman marries, a person whose parents and children are all alive and well is invited to remove the fine hair from the bride’s face and trim her bangs and sideburns. This is called “opening the face,” or “raising the brows.”

Jason Smith had also read about a custom not found in their town, so when Evan turned twelve, he bought the best new wine in town, took out the porcelain bottle he’d secretly stashed away—its glaze as beautiful as green plums—poured the wine into it, carefully sealed it with clay, and finally buried it underground.

Jason Smith suddenly said, “Evan, although that fellow surnamed Chen, according to our scholar ancestors, is ‘a piece of rotten wood that cannot be carved, a wall of dung that cannot be plastered,’ still, no matter what, he’s finally done one meaningful thing in his life.”

The maid didn’t reply, her eyes lowered, her lashes faintly trembling.

Jason Smith continued, “As for Ethan Brooks, he’s not a bad person, just too stubborn. He only ever sticks to the rules, so he became a kiln worker. That means no matter how hard he works, he’ll never be able to make anything truly inspired. That’s why Brian Clark’s master, old man Yao, always looks down on Ethan Brooks—he has a discerning eye. That’s what they mean by ‘rotten wood cannot be carved.’ As for ‘a wall of dung cannot be plastered,’ it basically means that someone like Ethan Brooks, even if you dress him in dragon robes, he’ll still be a rustic bumpkin…”

At this point, Jason Smith said self-mockingly, “Actually, I’m even worse off than Ethan Brooks.”

She didn’t know how to comfort her young master.

Jason Smith and his maid had always been a favorite topic of conversation among the wealthy families of Fulou Street and Taoye Lane in this small town, all thanks to Jason Smith’s “bargain father,” Mr. Smith.