There was a cacophony of opinions, with the old folks arguing back and forth, to the point that none of the children listening to the story were willing to take it seriously.

At this moment, the little girl was gazing intently at the crystal-clear stream, her hands propping up her cheeks, eyes unblinking.

The white-haired old man squatted beside her, chuckling softly, “Miss, if The Reed Family didn’t lie, then this great opportunity has already fallen into someone else’s hands.”

The little girl turned her head and grinned, “Grandpa, maybe there are two of them!”

She then revealed a comical look, missing one of her front teeth.

The little girl quickly realized this and hurriedly covered her mouth with her hand.

The old man stifled his laughter and explained, “For young flood dragons who haven’t yet traveled the rivers, territory is everything—they won’t allow their own kind to come near. So…”

The little girl let out an “oh,” then turned her head back, propped her cheeks with her hands again, and muttered, “But what if there is?”

The old man, who had always appeared kindly and gentle to the little girl, for the first time showed the stern expression of an elder. He reached out and gently pressed the girl’s head, speaking in a deep voice, “Miss, remember this: the words ‘what if’ are truly our greatest enemy. Never take chances! Even though you are of noble birth…”

The little girl pulled out one hand and waved it vigorously, pouting in a cute complaint, “I know, I know, Grandpa, my ears are getting calluses from hearing this.”

The old man said, “Miss, I’m going to keep an eye on things over there. Although they’re our allies on the surface here at Zhengyang Mountain, that whole family’s character—well, best not to mention it, so as not to dirty your ears.”

She simply waved her hand to shoo him away.

He could only leave, helplessly.

This burly old man, who seemed to be a family servant, let his arms hang by his knees as he walked, his back slightly hunched, as if carrying a heavy burden.

The girl by the shore suddenly rubbed her eyes hard.

She noticed that the water level in the stream was clearly starting to rise, slowly but visibly!

If this were outside the small town—say, at Zhengyang Mountain, or anywhere in her hometown—even if the entire stream dried up in an instant, she wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.

The little girl wondered aloud, “Isn’t it said that all mystical arts, divine powers, and Daoist techniques are naturally sealed here? And the higher your cultivation, the worse the backlash? Grandpa said that even that legendary person, if they stayed here too long, would be in a tough spot, like a clay Bodhisattva crossing a river—barely able to help themselves, let alone stop anyone from fighting for something…”

In the end, she shook her head, too lazy to puzzle over this mystery any longer.

The little girl turned to look at Grandpa’s tall figure.

She thought happily that once the ban here was completely lifted, she would ask Grandpa to move that mountain called Piyun Mountain away.

After bringing it back to her hometown, she’d use it as her little flower garden.

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Volume One: The Caged Sparrow

Chapter Eight: Wild Grass

After returning to the courtyard, Ethan Brooks’s eyelids kept twitching—left eye for fortune, right eye for disaster.

So Ethan Brooks sat down on the threshold and began to imagine himself throwing clay on a potter’s wheel, his hands suspended in the air. Soon, the straw-sandaled boy entered a state of total absorption. Diligence was one reason, but this also helped stave off hunger, which was important, so Ethan Brooks had developed the habit of working the wheel whenever he had something on his mind. Firing porcelain was all about fate—before opening the kiln, no one knew if the glaze and shape of a piece would turn out as hoped; you could only leave it to the heavens. But before firing, throwing the clay was absolutely crucial. Unfortunately, Ethan Brooks was considered untalented by Old Carter, so he mostly did the heavy work of kneading clay. Ethan Brooks could only watch carefully from the side, then practice kneading and throwing clay on his own, searching for the right feel.

From the neighboring courtyard came the sound of a wooden gate being pushed open—it was Jason Smith returning from the academy with his maid Evan. The handsome boy sprinted forward, easily vaulted the low wall, and after squatting down, opened his palm to reveal a handful of pebbles, each about the size of a fingernail, in various colors: mutton-fat, bean-green, white lotus root, and so on. These worthless stones, in all shapes and sizes, could be found everywhere along the creek banks in the small town. Among them, the most popular was a bright red stone, as if soaked in chicken blood. Teacher Qi from the academy had carved a seal for his student Adam Harris from one of these. Jason Smith thought it looked great and had tried several times to trade for it, but the other boy refused no matter what.

Jason Smith tossed a pebble, not too hard, and it hit Ethan Brooks in the chest. The latter didn’t react at all.

He threw another, this time hitting the straw-sandaled boy on the forehead, but Ethan Brooks still didn’t move.

Jason Smith was used to this. With a crackle, he threw out seven or eight more pebbles in quick succession. Although Jason Smith wanted to distract Ethan Brooks with pain, he never aimed directly at his arms or fingers—he felt that would be an unfair victory.

After tossing all the pebbles, Jason Smith clapped his hands. Ethan Brooks let out a long breath, shook his wrists, and completely ignored Jason Smith. After a moment’s thought, he lowered his head, his left hand forming a grip as if holding a carving knife.

The “jumping-knife” technique wasn’t anyone’s exclusive skill among the old kiln workers in the town, but whenever people saw Old Carter’s jumping-knife technique, they’d all give a thumbs-up.

Old Carter had taken on several apprentices, but none had truly satisfied him. It wasn’t until Brian Clark that he felt he’d found someone to carry on his craft. When Brian Clark practiced, Ethan Brooks would always squat nearby and watch intently whenever he had a free moment.