The Startled Snake

Ding Songyan had just taken a long stride when his habitually roving eyes suddenly caught sight of a face whose expression was shifting. That face belonged to a man wearing a cloth head wrap, somewhere around thirty, his beard shaved perfectly clean, the tip of his nose rather red, with a drinker's look about it. He stared at Ding Songyan as though he had seen a monster that had no business being there, astonishment and fear written all over his face. Seeing Ding Songyan's gaze fall on him, the man spun around, shoved his way into the market crowd, and in an instant was like water poured into the sea, gone without a trace. Ding Songyan's first impulse was to chase him down at once and seize him, but with no martial arts to his name he was a beat slow even in reacting; by the time he thought to move, the man was nowhere to be found. So a man who is already dead turns up outside Duokang Temple, strolling about as bold as you please, and gets so frightened he can't control his face? Beating the grass to startle the snake works well enough… Yes, there's bound to be some change now. No need to chase him at this moment. I only hope Mr. Yu is ready… Ding Songyan gazed in the direction the red-nosed man had fled and sank into thought. "Second Brother Ding, what are you looking at?" Xu Chang'an asked curiously. Only then did Ding Songyan pull back his thoughts, and he realized that the Headless Folk Commandant of Elite Cavalry from before had long since walked off and vanished from sight. "Looks like a thief got caught," Ding Songyan said, making something up on the spot to nudge Xu Chang'an. Being a thief never ends well! The first phone he had ever bought in his life, after scrimping and saving, had been lifted by a thief, and it had left him miserable for months. Xu Chang'an turned pale, rose on his toes, and kept craning his neck in that direction: "I don't see him. There's nothing. Where…" "He's already been hauled away," Ding Songyan said offhandedly. He turned toward another storyteller's spot, outwardly at ease, inwardly tense and on high alert. Xu Chang'an followed him absently, not going off to look for easy marks. Still looks like he's never been caught… The ones who go in and out of the yamen all the time are old hands by now; they aren't scared at all… Ding Songyan glanced at his neighbor, stopped amid the crowd, and listened to the storyteller's tales of heroes and legends while idly scanning his surroundings. Perhaps because tales of the martial world and jianghu anecdotes were legends enough on their own, the heroic romance scripts had to draw mainly on myth and stories of everyday life. The latter was something ordinary folk could reach out and touch; the audience was sizable indeed, packing the place so tightly that not a drop could have leaked through. Suddenly Xu Chang'an poked Ding Songyan's arm. Ding Songyan's heart tightened, and he turned to look at him. The fellow—decent-looking, and yet with something shifty and thievish about him—pointed to the other side and lowered his voice: "Second Brother Ding, look over there, over there." The crowd was thick, and Ding Songyan could not see; he stepped back two paces and shifted position. No further word from Xu Chang'an was needed—at a glance he knew who the man meant. It was a girl of sixteen or seventeen, wearing a plain white round-collared jacket fastened down the front, and below it a much-pleated white skirt edged in green; her hair was done in twin hanging buns, two strands of black hair falling behind her shoulders, which lent her a touch of cuteness. The girl's eyes tilted up at the corners, her chin pointed and pert, her nose small and straight with a rather fleshy tip, her skin fair and smooth as cream. As she glanced about, she was both clear-featured and playful, and gave off a hint of unripe beauty besides; purity and allure seemed to hold no contradiction at all as they dwelt in her at once. At the tip of the silver hairpin beside her bun, a kingfisher-green bead flower swayed gently, answering the jade pendants at her waist that moved with her figure. She simply stood there, drawing who knew how many gazes. Those gazes touched her and slipped away, then circled back again. "Second Brother Ding, she's a beauty, isn't she?" Xu Chang'an sighed under his breath. "Already like this at her age—a few years more and she'll be toppling cities and kingdoms." Then, seeing Ding Songyan look at him, he blurted out: "Of course, she's still a little below Sister Qingyan. A tiny bit." Hah, at least you know how to talk. True, a tiny bit below—a tiny bit below in height… Different styles and temperaments, no comparing them directly: one is ethereal and refined, the other pure and alluring… As Ding Songyan muttered to himself, the storyteller finished a round and began asking for tips. The girl tossed a silver ingot into the bamboo basket with a clink—by the look of it, a whole liang. "Oh my, the young lady is generous!" The storyteller was startled and delighted at once, pouring out praise. The girl tilted her chin up slightly, looking rather pleased with herself: "I'll come listen to you again tomorrow." Loose with her money, very generous… and a bit naive, clearly inexperienced in the world… Ding Songyan suddenly wondered whether he ought to think of a way to get some silver out of this girl. If I don't take it, someone else will. Better it comes to me than to them! Only then did he notice that there was a maid beside the girl, in a green silk skirt, pretty and charming. Under the girl's radiance, everyone around had unconsciously overlooked the maid. While watching, Ding Songyan suddenly turned his head toward Xu Chang'an: "Have you ever seen this girl before?" "Never," Xu Chang'an answered, looking bewildered. If I had, I'd have spread the word till everyone in Chengyu Lane knew! "She doesn't seem to be from this city?" Ding Songyan pressed. Xu Chang'an, who had kept his back straight the whole time, said with confidence: "Of course not. With looks like that, and no attempt to cover up when she goes out—not like Sister Qingyan wearing a veiled hat—if she were from this city, her fame would have spread far and wide like Zheng Zhuxi of the Xiaoming Sect. And Zheng Zhuxi isn't even as pretty as her." Ding Songyan's urge to make money vanished at once, and his brows drew slightly together. When he had first arrived and saw Ding Qingyan, amazed as he was, he had not found it strange; he had simply assumed that this world's soil and water were exceptional and well suited to producing beauties. Later, after walking the streets a few times, he understood that girls like his sister were in fact not many—rare, even. In these two days at least, he had not found a single one; everyone he met fell far short. And now another girl of equally peerless beauty had suddenly popped up. Wasn't that too much of a coincidence? Were all the beauties of the world gathering in Dingjiang Prefecture? Besides, the girl loved storytelling so much, yet Xu Chang'an had not seen her outside Duokang Temple in the past few days, which meant she must have arrived in Dingjiang Prefecture only within the last two days. And in those same two days, one other thing had happened: Ding Erlang's bizarre disappearance and his death in the ruined shrine outside the city. "The two things may not be directly connected, but the timing is too neat. It gives me the feeling that something is brewing in Dingjiang Prefecture—winds and rains from all directions converging on Dingjiang?" Ding Songyan mused to himself. Xu Chang'an, meanwhile, was glancing left and right, heading off in the direction the white-skirted girl and her maid had gone. Ding Songyan's hand shot out and clamped onto his shoulder: "Where are you going?" Startled, Xu Chang'an blinked and said: "That girl was carrying plenty of silver and doesn't much care about it, no wariness at all. I was thinking I could do a bit of business." Seeing Ding Songyan watching him in silence, Xu Chang'an added hesitantly: "Pretty as she is, I still have to find money for food. If I don't steal it, others in the trade will. "She's not Sister Qingyan. She and I have no ties." Ding Songyan clicked his tongue: "A girl with looks like that travels all the way to Dingjiang Prefecture, with a face full of innocent delight, not knowing how to hide herself—and you'd really dare rob her? "Traveling is hard; traveling far is harder still, and there are no watchtowers on the road. "If you ask me, either this girl comes from a distinguished family with a skilled guard at her side, or she's a formidable martial artist herself. If you're set on dying, there's no need to rush it today." Xu Chang'an's expression changed: "Right!" Then he looked at Ding Songyan, brimming with gratitude: "Second Brother Ding, what you said sounds a lot like my master. In our trade, skill matters a lot, but the most important thing isn't skill—it's knowing how to read people. Who can be robbed, who can't, who's easy, who's not—you have to see all that before you make your move. "I've always been scolded by my master for that." No, no, no—the most important thing is brains, and you're a bit short there… Ding Songyan grumbled inwardly, then patted Xu Chang'an on the shoulder: "Don't keep setting your sights on vegetable peddlers and old women selling needles and thread. A man who means to be a master thief one day can't lower his own standing, or people will laugh at him once he's famous." Xu Chang'an was struck dumb for a few moments, then said: "Then how do I make a living…" So you have to steal and that's that, is it? Couldn't you find some honest work? This world's trade seems quite developed; there ought to be jobs to be had… Ding Songyan sighed: "Rob the rich to help the poor, then. Only rob the sort who get rich by cruel means." With a shallow acquaintance, one does not speak too deeply, and he could not be bothered to say more. He did not press Xu Chang'an further, who had sunk into thought, but said goodbye and went on wandering outside Duokang Temple, hoping that the man who had been so terrified at the sight of him would bring about some change and that the hidden danger hanging over him would be settled soon. "Ding Erlang, Ding Erlang!" someone nearby was calling his name. Ding Songyan tensed, turned, and smiled toward the source of the voice. It was a man selling wound-healing plasters, not yet thirty, a black cloth wrapped around his head and one of his own plasters stuck on his face, which made him look rather comical. The cloth banner he held bore two lines of writing: "Guaranteed cure for bruises and injuries, "Just one coin a sheet." No literary flair, but it wins on concision… Ding Songyan said nothing and waited for the man to state his business. The man with the plaster on his face was all excitement: "Ding Erlang, why haven't you come to tell stories today?" He pointed at the empty spot beside him. Oh, so this is the stall 'I' got from the storytellers' guild through Zhen Manor's connections? I wonder if I could transfer it and turn it into cash. It isn't as if I have any storytelling skills left… Though I listened for a long while just now and saw that storytelling here lacks all the techniques, set phrases, and rapid patter of my old world—a clear tongue and a story told straight is all it takes—my goal is to learn martial arts, not to become a fast-talking performer… Before Ding Songyan could speak, the plaster vendor rattled on: "A girl was just here asking about you—a creature like a fairy from heaven!" Eh? A figure suddenly surfaced in Ding Songyan's mind. "Miss, miss!" the plaster vendor was already calling loudly. "Ding Erlang is here! In our Dingjiang Prefecture, his historical tales rank in the top three!" Thanks for the puffing up—the whole essence of business is mutual flattery… Ding Songyan, as expected, saw the white-skirted girl from before and her maid. The girl came over quickly and asked cheerfully, without the least shyness: "Ding Erlang, when will you tell stories today? I want to come listen." Ding Songyan blinked, his thoughts racing, and cupped his hands in salute: "In answer to the young lady, I've been unwell these past few days and meant to rest, but if the young lady wishes to listen, I can do a passage. Not a historical tale—a heroic romance I've only recently learned. If I tell it poorly, the young lady need not give any tip at all." Historical storytelling he certainly could not do, but stories—he had plenty of models to draw on. His aim was clear: he wanted neither the girl's money nor her person, only to establish some contact and leave behind a bit of goodwill. Given the family background she likely had, if the situation truly called for it, that bit of goodwill would be worth a thousand pieces of gold.