There were no important figures in the small town, nor were there any great waves of trouble. Thus, the kiln supervisor sent by the imperial court was, without a doubt, the kind of upright and just official you’d find in a stage play. Among the dozens of supervisors throughout history, the previous supervisor, Mr. Smith, was the most beloved by the people. Unlike those aloof officials before him, Mr. Smith did not hide away in his office cultivating himself, nor did he shut his doors to guests and devote himself solely to scholarly pursuits. Instead, he personally oversaw every aspect of the official kiln’s porcelain production, even more like a common villager than the craftsmen themselves. Over more than ten years, this once scholarly Mr. Smith became tanned and radiant from the sun, and his daily attire was no different from that of a farmer. He was always approachable and never put on airs. Unfortunately, the imperial porcelain produced by the town’s dragon kiln, whether in glaze, appearance, or form—be it large or small pieces—never quite met expectations. In fact, it was even a bit inferior to previous standards, leaving the old kiln masters utterly baffled.

In the end, perhaps the court felt that the diligent Mr. Smith deserved some credit for his hard work, if not for his achievements, and so the edict transferring him back to the capital’s Ministry of Personnel at least gave him a decent evaluation. Before returning to the capital, Mr. Smith spent all his savings to fund the construction of a covered bridge. Later, when it was discovered that a certain child was not among those leaving with Mr. Smith, the prominent families of the town suddenly understood. It could be said that Mr. Smith had built up a deep bond with the town, and with the current supervisor’s deliberate care, the young Jason Smith had lived a carefree and comfortable life in the town these past years. As for the maid, now renamed Evan, there were many rumors about her origins. Locals living in Mud Bottle Alley said that one winter, during a heavy snowfall, a girl from out of town begged her way here and collapsed at the gate of Jason Smith’s home. If she hadn’t been found in time, she would have gone to the underworld to be reincarnated. The old man who did odd jobs at the government office had another story, swearing that Mr. Smith had bought an orphan from elsewhere years ago, intending to find a close companion for his illegitimate son Jason Smith, to make up for the regret of not being able to acknowledge him as his son.

In any case, after the maid was named Evan by the young master, it cemented their father-son relationship, for all the prominent families in town knew that Mr. Smith’s favorite inkstone was engraved with the characters “稚圭”.

Jason Smith snapped out of his thoughts, his face lighting up with a bright smile. “For some reason, I just thought of that shameless little lizard. Evan, think about it: I threw it into Ethan Brooks’s yard, but it still tried to sneak back into our house. Just how unwelcoming must Ethan Brooks’s doghouse be, for it to be so shabby that even a little snake doesn’t want to go in?”

The maid thought seriously for a moment, then replied, “Maybe some things are just a matter of fate?”

Jason Smith gave a thumbs up and said cheerfully, “Exactly! That’s the truth! He, Ethan Brooks, is just someone with shallow fate and little fortune—he should be content just to be alive.”

She said nothing.

Jason Smith muttered to himself, “After we leave town, all the things in the house will be left for Ethan Brooks to look after. Do you think that guy will steal from us?”

The maid said softly, “Young master, I don’t think so.”

Jason Smith laughed, “Oh, Evan, you even know what ‘steal from oneself’ means?”

The maid blinked her long, limpid eyes. “Isn’t it just what the words say?”

Jason Smith laughed, then looked southward, a look of longing on his face. “I heard that the capital’s collection of books is even greater than all the flowers, grass, and trees in our little town!”

Just then, the storyteller was saying, “Though there are no true dragons left in the world, the dragon’s kin—like jiao, qiu, chi, and so on—still truly and really live among us. Perhaps they’re even…”

The old man deliberately left a cliffhanger, but seeing the audience unmoved and not playing along, he had to continue, “Perhaps they’re hiding right among us. In Daoism, they’re called ‘hidden dragons in the abyss’!”

Jason Smith yawned.

Suddenly, a locust leaf drifted down from above, lush and green, landing right on the boy’s forehead.

Jason Smith reached out and caught the leaf, twisting the stem between his fingers.

————

The boy, who was still thinking about going to the east gate to collect a debt, also saw a locust leaf falling as he neared the old locust tree. He quickened his pace, trying to catch it.

But a gentle breeze swept by, and the leaf slipped past his hand.

The straw-sandaled boy moved swiftly, sidestepping to intercept the leaf.

But the leaf spun again in the air.

Unwilling to give up, the boy tried several times, but in the end, he still couldn’t catch the locust leaf.

The boy, Ethan Brooks, could only sigh helplessly.

A young man in a blue robe, skipping class from the village school, brushed past Ethan Brooks.

The young man himself didn’t even realize that a locust leaf had somehow landed on his shoulder.

Ethan Brooks continued on toward the east gate. Even if he couldn’t get the money, it was still worth urging for it.

————

In the distance, at the fortune-telling stall, a young Daoist sat with his eyes closed, resting and muttering to himself, “Who says fate’s cycles are always fair?”

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Volume One: Caged Sparrow

Chapter Six: The Bad Omen

Ethan Brooks arrived at the east gate and saw the man sitting cross-legged on a tree stump at the fence gate, lazily basking in the early spring sun, eyes closed, humming a little tune, and patting his knees with both hands.

Ethan Brooks squatted beside him. For the boy, asking for a debt was truly hard to bring up.