The young man had no choice but to quietly gaze toward the wide road in the east, winding and long, like a thick yellow serpent.

He habitually grabbed a handful of earth, clutching it in his palm, slowly kneading it.

He had once followed Old Carter over hills and ridges around the small town, carrying a heavy pack filled with all sorts of things, including a hatchet and a hoe, packed to the brim. Led by the old man, they would walk and stop here and there; Ethan Brooks often had to “eat dirt,” grabbing a handful of soil and putting it straight into his mouth, chewing it, carefully tasting its flavor. Over time, practice made perfect—Ethan Brooks could tell the quality of the soil just by rubbing it between his fingers. Later on, when he weighed some old kiln shards on the market, Ethan Brooks could tell which kiln they came from, or even which master had fired them.

Although Old Carter was eccentric and unsociable, often beating and scolding Ethan Brooks, there was once a time when Old Carter complained that Ethan Brooks was too slow-witted, calling him a hopeless fool, and in a fit of anger left him alone in the wilds, returning to the kiln by himself. After the boy walked sixty li of mountain roads and neared the dragon kiln, it was already late at night. That day, rain poured down in torrents. As the boy trudged through the mud and finally saw a distant glimmer of light, for the first time since struggling to make a living on his own, the stubborn boy felt the urge to cry.

But he never blamed the old man, nor did he ever hold a grudge.

The boy came from a poor family and had never gone to school, but he understood a truth not found in books: in this world, aside from your parents, no one is obliged to treat you well.

And his parents had passed away early.

Ethan Brooks could endure sitting in a daze. The slovenly man seemed to realize he probably couldn’t get away with it, opened his eyes and grinned, “It’s just five copper coins. If a man is this stingy, he’ll never amount to much.”

Ethan Brooks looked helpless. “Aren’t you the one fussing over it?”

The man grinned, revealing a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth, and chuckled, “That’s why, if you don’t want to end up a bachelor like me, don’t obsess over those five coins.”

Ethan Brooks sighed, looked up, and said seriously, “If you’re short on money, then forget about the five coins. But let’s agree in advance: from now on, one copper coin per letter, and you can’t go back on your word.”

The man, reeking of sourness, turned his head and smiled, “Kid, with your stubborn, pigheaded temper, you’re bound to suffer big losses in the future. Haven’t you heard the old saying, ‘Suffering a loss is a blessing’? If you’re not even willing to take a small loss…”

He glanced at the dirt in the boy’s hand, paused, and teased, “Then you’re destined for a life of toiling with your face to the earth and your back to the sky.”

Ethan Brooks retorted, “Didn’t I just say to forget about the five coins? Doesn’t that count as taking a small loss?”

The man was a bit stumped, looking annoyed, and waved him off, “Go, go, go, talking to you is exhausting.”

Ethan Brooks loosened his fingers, dropped the dirt, and stood up, saying, “The tree stump is too damp…”

The man looked up and cursed with a laugh, “You think I need you to lecture me? Young men are full of energy—you could fry a pancake on your butt!”

The man turned and glanced at the boy’s back, curled his lip, and muttered something under his breath, as if cursing the heavens.

————

The tutor Mr. Turner ended lessons unusually early today, for some unknown reason.

Behind the schoolhouse was a courtyard, with a low wooden gate on the north side that led to a bamboo grove.

When Jason Smith and the maid were listening to stories under the old locust tree, someone called them over to play chess. Jason Smith was reluctant, but the person said it was at Mr. Turner’s request—he wanted to see if their chess skills had improved. Toward the stern and unsmiling Mr. Turner, Jason Smith had a feeling he couldn’t quite describe, perhaps a mix of respect and awe. So, since Mr. Turner himself had issued the order, Jason Smith had no choice but to go, but insisted on waiting until the storyteller finished before heading to the back courtyard. The young man in a blue robe who delivered the message had to leave first, not forgetting to remind Jason Smith not to be too late, nagging as usual about how his master valued rules and disliked people who broke their word, and so on.

At the time, Jason Smith was picking his ears, impatiently saying, “I know, I know.”

When Jason Smith brought Evan to the back courtyard, a cool breeze was blowing. The refined young man in blue, as usual, was already sitting on the bench to the south, back straight, sitting upright.

Jason Smith plopped down across from the young man in blue, facing south from the north.

Mr. Turner sat to the west, as always observing the game in silence.

The maid Evan, whenever her young master played chess with someone, would go for a walk in the bamboo grove to avoid disturbing the three “scholars.” Today was no exception.

In this out-of-the-way little town, there were no so-called scholarly families, so scholars were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns.

According to the old rules set by Mr. Turner, Jason Smith and the young man in blue had to guess for color, and the winner would play black and go first.