If you knew someone would hurt you in the future, how would you prevent that harm?
The question was intriguing; the clerk couldn’t help but step a few paces closer.
“Why, naturally, I’d beat him up first,” he said, swinging his fist for emphasis. “Teach him a lesson.”
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded at that.
“Or,” she said evenly, “just kill him first.”
Kill him? The clerk froze in shock, staring at the young woman who had uttered such words so calmly, as though it were nothing at all.
Kill… someone…
“Y-yes, yes, that would be best,” he stammered at last, nodding quickly. “Cut the problem off at the root.”
“You really think that way?” Cheng Ping asked, his gaze fixed on Cheng Jiao-niang.
Yes, that was exactly what she thought. Cheng Jiao-niang pressed her lips tightly together.
It was precisely because she thought this way that she had gone to Liang-zhou. The Yang clan’s ancestral home was there – their forebears had been hunters. But more than three hundred years had passed; she could not go back, and she could not resign herself either. Again and again, she turned the thought over in her mind: she had to cut them off at the root, dig out the Yang clan’s foundation. If the Yangs had destroyed the Cheng clan, then she would make sure to destroy the Yangs at their root.
She clung to this thought every waking moment, repeating it over and over, forcing herself not to dwell on the Cheng family’s tragic fate, not to think of anything else – holding only that one obsession in her heart. Yet she never managed to find anyone named Yang, not even the village itself.
She remembered once visiting Yang Shan’s hometown with him, but now, in this moment, the place in her memory had become nothing but a vast lake.
A lake…
Desolate, deserted all around.
Was this what they meant by “the sea turning into mulberry fields”?
Nothing remained. Nothing could be found.
Three hundred years – three hundred years ago, even the Yang clan’s ancestors did not yet exist.
Still, she refused to give up. She scoured the whole of Liang-zhou. Naturally, she encountered people surnamed Yang, but she had no way of knowing which among them were the Yang family’s progenitors. She could hardly kill every Yang in the province.
And yet – yes, the thought had crossed her mind. That night, she had even stood within the threshold of a household bearing the surname Yang.
“…Miss, are you a fairy from the heavens?”
The wide-eyed little boy clung to her leg and called out.
“…You’re so pretty…”
Looking at that face – so pink, so tender, so full of innocent laughter – she found that the hand holding her dagger simply could not rise.
Think! Think of her younger sisters, her nieces. Think of the children of the Cheng family who had perished at the hands of the Yangs. They had children like this too – if he could strike them down, why couldn’t she?
Kill them. Kill them all.
“…Young lady, are you asking for directions, or seeking a place to stay the night?”
The two old folk asked kindly, their faces full of warmth and concern.
Cheng Jiao-niang closed her eyes. Her heart turned to ice.
Wake up – wake up! Under the vast heavens and endless earth, there were no kin, no enemies. Only she, alone in this world, utterly powerless to do anything.
“Then you’re mistaken.”
Cheng Ping’s voice sounded at her ear.
Mistaken? Cheng Jiao-niang turned to look at him, and so did the clerk.
“Mistaken how? Shouldn’t one stop the other side? What, are we supposed to just stand there and wait to be bullied?” the clerk demanded.
Cheng Ping stroked his chin with a smile.
“How should I put it?” he said, drawing three large coins from his sleeve. “Take fortune-telling, for example. What I divine is only whether fortune or misfortune lies ahead – very rarely how to avert the calamity.”
“No wonder you’ve got no business,” the clerk snorted from the side.
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him, but she understood what he meant.
“You mean to say… fate cannot be changed?” she asked, her voice edged with anger.
Cannot be changed? Cannot be changed? Then why had she come back to life? Had she returned only to go on suffering, to endure torment and pain all over again?
The young clerk, watching the little lady’s unguarded fury, couldn’t help curling his lips in disdain. See? Hadn’t he said this fellow was no good at business? When no customers came, he sat idle; when one did come, all he could do was provoke their anger and invite a beating.
A fortune-teller lived by his tongue – his words were his wares. And words ought to be sweet.
“What I mean is this: asking others is not as good as asking yourself,” Cheng Ping continued calmly. “You come to me asking what to do, but in truth, you’d do better to ask yourself.”
Cheng Jiao-niang stared at him.
“First ask yourself – why would this person hurt you?” Cheng Ping said.
Why would someone hurt her? Why had the Cheng clan been destroyed by the Yangs? Cheng Jiao-niang’s fists clenched tight.
Of course she knew – everything in this world boiled down to profit and power.
Why? Because you were too good…
Because we were too good, we had to die?
The Chengs were too good, too strong, and thus became a threat to the Yangs – so they could not be allowed to exist?
But in this world, what person, what family does not strive to be good, to be strong? Is there truly anyone who wishes to live a life of mediocrity?
To be harmed simply for being too good – then what, must her Cheng family have become corrupt and worthless just to survive?
Impossible! Why should it be so?!
Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head fiercely, her fists trembling as they clenched.
“And besides,” Cheng Ping went on, stroking his chin, unconcerned by her shaking head, “what you’re asking about is the person who harms you – not the harm itself.”
The person… the act?
Cheng Jiao-niang’s eyes, dull as stagnant water, flickered faintly.
“Life in this world is life among people,” Cheng Ping said. “Where there is no one person, there will be someone else. Guarding against others will never be as effective as strengthening yourself.”
“So you’re saying… to let go of this person?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked. Even as she spoke, she slowly shook her head.
No. No, she could never let them go. The Yangs—never…
“This harm hasn’t happened yet, has it?” Cheng Ping rubbed his hands together as he spoke.
It had happened. And yet – it had not.
“It will happen,” Cheng Jiao-niang said softly. “A long, long time from now.”
“But have you thought about this-” Cheng Ping looked at her and asked, “even if you kill the one who might harm you in the future, what about the others?”
Others?
“Take the road, for example.” Cheng Ping pointed ahead. “You’re walking along and come across a ditch, or a snake. You fill in that ditch, you stomp that snake to death – but does that guarantee you’ll never again encounter a ditch, or a snake, for the rest of your life?”
Cheng Jiao-niang’s expression shifted.
So then…
“So what you ought to consider is not the person who might harm you, but the harm itself,” Cheng Ping said. “Because if not this person, there will always be another.”
Is that so?
Was this what people meant when they said that what was fated could never be escaped? Even if she wiped out the Yang clan, three hundred years later would there still be a Zhu clan, or a Niu clan, to destroy the Chengs? So long as her family was strong, would they never be free from such calamities?
Strong. Since when had strength become a crime?
Strength had never been a crime!
“Then what should I do…?” she demanded through clenched teeth.
“Make yourself stronger,” Cheng Ping replied, shrugging and spreading his hands. “So strong that those who wish to harm you won’t even dare to form the thought.”
Become stronger! Cheng Jiao-niang’s gaze fixed on Cheng Ping.
So that was it – this must have been her ancestor’s resolve as well. No one would ever choose to shrink back just because strength might invite harm!
Yes – what had befallen them was not because they were strong, but because they were not strong enough, not formidable enough to strike fear into their enemies.
That was human nature: before what was distant and unreachable, people felt awe. But once it was close at hand, they would think, “So this is all it is.”
The Cheng clan must become stronger – so powerful, so unassailable – that the Yangs would never even dare to form the thought of harming them.
“My lord…” Cheng Jiao-niang leaned forward, bracing herself against the table, her expression burning with urgency as she looked at Cheng Ping. “My lord, I beg you – you must do it. You must become better, you must become stronger…”
The atmosphere shifted abruptly. Startled, Cheng Ping leaned back.
How had it suddenly turned to him again!
“N-no, no,” he said quickly, waving his hands. “Not me – you. It’s you.”
Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head, nearly collapsing into a kneel before him.
“No… no, I’m already useless. It’s you. Only you can save them – save us,” she said, tears spilling down her face.
Ah, she’d fallen into her heart’s knot again…
“Think about it – what you know, naturally belongs to you. It has nothing to do with me,” Cheng Ping said cautiously.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Ban Qin, standing nearby, could no longer hold back.
“How can you be like this! What’s the harm in just agreeing? Is it really that hard to say something she wants to hear?” she cried in frustration.
“But, but… how can a gentleman make promises carelessly?” Cheng Ping protested.
Someone nearby strode over and smacked him on the back of the head.
“Gentleman, my foot! Do you still want to do business as a fengshui diviner or not?” Steward Cao glared at him and hissed under his breath.
Helpless, Cheng Ping nodded.
“All right, all right, I understand. I’ll work hard to become better and stronger,” he said to Cheng Jiao-niang.
Cheng Jiao-niang fell to her knees, bowing low.
“Thank you… my lord,” she choked out, her voice trembling. “Thank you, thank you. You must become strong. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. Money? I’ll give you money – all of it. However much you need, I’ll earn it…”
She really had lost her mind…
“Yes, yes, I understand. We’ll talk about that later,” Cheng Ping replied with a forced smile, raising his hand in a gesture. “For now, get up. Go back first – we’ll discuss it after you return.”
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded solemnly.
“Yes,” she said with grave earnestness.
Ban Qin carefully helped Cheng Jiao-niang to her feet, while Steward Cao and the attendants drove away the onlookers, leading the group off the street.
Cheng Ping and the young shop-hand both let out a long breath of relief, wiping the sweat from their brows.
“So she’s a lunatic after all…” the clerk muttered.
Cheng Ping shook his head, still shaken.
“A lunatic, yes – but a formidable one,” he said, his eyes following the figure of the girl as she moved away through the bustling crowd.
After only a few steps, Cheng Jiao-niang no longer needed Ban Qin’s support. She walked on by herself, stiff-faced, eyes fixed ahead, expression empty.
Behind her, the noise of the crowd went on – laughter, gossip, pointing fingers. Everyone mocked the madwoman, scoffing at her wild words. No one knew how real the sorrow, the tears, the madness, and the suffering of that journey truly were.
No one knew.
