Rainy Alley

Time was unknown, and the place was some country, some prefecture, some county.

A Daoist wearing a bamboo hat stood atop a mountain on the outskirts.

At the foot of the mountain, two households echoed in turns with the rising and falling cries of women in labor.

Though the gauze hanging from the brim obscured both his face and his vision, the Daoist’s eyesight was exceptionally sharp.

He could see inside a grand estate, where a domineering young master was berating several midwives and physicians who had just come off their shifts, scolding them so harshly they were drenched in abuse.

He could also see inside a dilapidated thatched hut, where a disheveled girl knelt before a crude little idol, muttering over and over, “Immortal, please bless us.”

They were both preparing, in their own ways, to welcome a younger sibling.

The scenes of these two worlds never overlapped.

The man in black watched as if observing a play, yet at some point, two lumps of clay had appeared in his right hand.

The two lumps of clay moved swiftly between his fingertips, like a pair of antique walnuts being rolled and played with.

Before long, a boy and a girl—two clay infants—took shape in his hands, both as white as jade, delicate and lifelike.

He frowned slightly as he looked at them, then continued to rhythmically manipulate one of the clay pieces.

When his fingers finally stilled again, the infants in his hands had become entirely different from before.

He looked at the two clay babies and smiled.

The two clay babies looked back at him and smiled as well.

And then, he threw them onto the ground, shattering them into pieces.

That day, it happened to be raining heavily.

The rain scattered the fragments of the clay infants until they were completely broken apart.

Yet there was no denying it those clay infants had once existed.

Even those shaped from clay were remarkably resilient.

A fine drizzle fell over long streets and narrow alleys.

A woman in white walked beneath an oil-paper umbrella.

Carrying a bundle in her hand, she strolled as she went, buying all sorts of random trinkets.

She showed no concern over whether she was wasting money, and when speaking to vendors, she only asked for prices, never bargaining.

Other than that, she softly hummed a tune that no one else could quite make out.

When someone expressed shock at how recklessly she was spending, she would grin and reply,

“I’ll be leaving this county soon, and I might not come back for a very long time.”

“So before I go, I might as well ‘bless’ the local businesses a bit.”

A fine drizzle fell.

From behind vermilion gates, a black-clad youth stepped out, his face ashen like death itself.

His destination was clear, as if a map had already been etched into his mind.

He took the most direct paths into every apothecary and every weapons shop.

Once inside, he would pack up all the poisonous or potentially toxic herbs and mixtures, along with as many blades and scissors as he could carry.

No one cared to stop him.

In truth, within the black-clad youth’s mind, there was nothing left but the heavy presence of three coffins belonging to his closest kin.

So he paid no mind to the cold, numbing sensation of the drizzle on his face.

Nor to the pointing and murmurs of passersby.

The woman in white skipped along the streets, spending money freely.

The black-clad youth wandered the same streets, weighed down by heavy thoughts, also spending freely.

They roamed the same small county, each with their own purpose.

So sooner or later, they were bound to meet somewhere within it.

As they brushed past each other, the black-clad youth finally made out the song the woman was humming.

“Gold and silver, jewels and treasures, are but sand and stone; how long before beauty fades…”

“Good and evil will, in the end, be repaid; love and hate always cancel each other out…”

“The Heavenly Dao has always favored cycles of retribution; if it has not come, it is only not yet time…”

“I urge all of you to be kind; even the strange and unseen are watching…”

It was part of the opera lyrics from The Skeletal Emperor’s Moral Admonition.

He thought the woman’s voice was beautiful.

So he turned back and called out to her.