"Young man, you weren't burned, were you?"
"No, not at all..."
"Our bodies, hair, and skin are gifts from our parents—even singeing a few strands of your hair would weigh on our conscience."
"It was my own carelessness."
"Just stand back a little. Heh heh, let me draw in another breath."
The old man was all smiles, thoroughly pleased by the crowd's stunned reaction. He stepped back over to the brazier, leaned down, and drew in a deep breath.
"Hsss..."
Instantly, the roaring flames drew like smoke into his mouth and nose.
Lin Jue's vision blurred for a fleeting instant. It seemed as though the moment the flames reached the old man's mouth, they naturally turned into a glowing stream of fiery vapor or mist. Even after entering his mouth and nose, the gleam remained visible through his flesh.
Yet the illusion lasted only a moment.
An instant later, everything was back to normal.
Lin Jue rubbed his eyes and looked again, but saw nothing out of the ordinary—only an old man smugly performing Fire Spitting.
For a moment, he could only stand there in bewilderment.
Before long, neither side would yield, and they agreed to a contest, drawing a line down the middle of the clearing. Money thrown to one side went to the old man, while coins on the other went to the original troupe. Each side showed off their skills, and the spectators tossed coins to whichever performer they preferred to decide the winner.
The troupe performed fish-angling tricks.
In response, the old man chopped off his own hand, displayed it to the crowd, and then joined it right back onto his wrist.
The troupe performed the severed silk trick.
The old man borrowed books and silk cloths from the spectators, tossed them into the brazier, and burned them to ashes. A moment later, he retrieved every single item from elsewhere, completely undamaged.
For a time, the performance was spectacular.
Some favored pure skill, and since the old man was clearly the better performer, they threw their coins and belongings toward his side. Others felt the middle-aged juggler was in the right; his words had been pleasant to the ear, giving them a good impression from the start. Seeing him bullied and wronged, they sympathized with his plight, indignant on his behalf, and threw most of their money and goods toward his side instead.
There were also those who joined in the clamor just for fun, tossing coins to both sides, as well as the stingy who didn't part with a single copper.
Yet Lin Jue gradually noticed something amiss—
When the troupe had been performing earlier, it was natural for the men behind them to beat gongs, drums, and cymbals. But now, with the two sides supposedly at each other's throats, why were those same men still drumming and clashing cymbals to build up the atmosphere while the old man performed?
Could a rivalry between strangers really be this gentlemanly?
The spectacle went on until mid-afternoon. Exhausted, and with spectators beginning to drift toward home, the performers finally called it a day and began packing up their stalls.
Beaming as though he had won the contest, the old man bent down to gather his share of the money. With a grand wave of his hand, he generously gifted all the other items to the middle-aged performer before strolling leisurely away. The middle-aged performer, though visibly irritated, forced an air of graciousness, cupping his hands in thanks with a sour face. Even so, he politely saw the crowd off, naming the time and place for tomorrow and inviting everyone to return if they were free.
Lin Jue couldn't help feeling a pang of regret.
He hadn't seen any more magical arts.
The severed hand trick the old man had performed later was miraculous enough, and of all the tricks, Lin Jue was most certain it likely fell into the realm of true spells. Yet he hadn't felt that strange sensation again.
He had only guesses, with no way to be sure of the reason.
He didn't know if there was any reaction from the Ancient Book.
Only then did it suddenly dawn on him that he was supposed to meet his cousin on the street behind Immortal Luo Temple.
That cousin of his was an honest, straightforward lad of only sixteen or seventeen. After waiting so long without any sign of him, wouldn't he worry something had happened?
"Not good!"
Lin Jue hurried off in that direction.
He wove his way through streets and alleys.
Several times he wanted to stop, set down his basket, and pull the Ancient Book from his robes to take a look, but he forced himself to hold back.
At last, he reached the agreed spot.
Having no idea where he had gone and not daring to wander off searching, Lin Jue had no choice but to wait.
Fortunately, before long, a dark-skinned youth carrying a large back-basket approached. From the way the basket swayed, it was clearly empty.
Spotting Lin Jue, the boy quickened his pace.
"How long have you been here?"
"I... just got here."
"Just got here? Did you look around, then? Did you see the magic tricks?" His cousin's eyes went wide.
"I saw them..."
Meeting those clear, honest eyes, Lin Jue felt a prick of guilt.
"Phew..."
His cousin breathed a sigh of relief.
"Good that you looked around. Good that you saw them. There were too many people selling mountain bamboo shoots today, lots of them little kids about this high." His cousin held a hand level with his chest. "Luckily, in the end I did what you said last time and went to ask at the gates of the wealthy folk in the city. Once they saw how good the shoots were, they bought them all."
"Just like that?"
"I nearly made you wait half the day for me. Good thing you're clever."
"Hm?"
"How did you know I wouldn't be able to sell them?"
"I..."
"Forget it if you don't want to say! Have you eaten yet? The food's still with me. Once we finish eating, we can look around a bit more and go pay our respects at Immortal Luo Temple. We just need to make it back right as it gets dark." His cousin pulled two pan-baked stuffed flatbreads from his basket, handing one to him first.
"It would be better to head back before dark," Lin Jue said, thinking of the ghostly figures he had seen in the bamboo grove that morning.
"There's plenty of time. Worst comes to worst, we can run part of the way."
"Mm..."
Lin Jue took the pan-baked stuffed flatbread and began eating.
A pan-baked stuffed flatbread was a toasted flat cake, rolled thin, coming in various sizes. The ones his aunt made were as big as a person's face, stuffed with dried preserved greens or diced dried bamboo shoots. It was dry and easy to carry, a staple provision that local merchants often brought on their travels.
"Did you buy the medicine?"
"I did."
"How much cheaper was it?"
"All told, it comes out to two thousand coins a month less than last time."
"Let me see..."
The two chatted casually as they walked and ate.
Yet Lin Jue was somewhat distracted.
After eating, they paid their respects at Immortal Luo Temple and strolled around once more. Sadly, they saw no further signs of the transcendent or supernatural. Even when they encountered shamans and sorcerers along the road, none demonstrated any wondrous abilities in the streets, and when they came across a crippled Daoist telling fortunes beneath a bridge, neither of them could afford the fee.
Only when the sun sank further into the west did the two turn toward the exit.
Just as they were about to leave the city, passing through a narrow alley, Lin Jue glanced up casually, only to freeze.
Ahead in the alley was that very troupe of jugglers.
Looking closely, not only were the original jugglers led by the middle-aged performer there, but the old man was present too, along with several of the spectators who had joined in the heckling earlier. They were gathered together, eating dry rations.
The old man was even seated upon a wooden crate, perched higher than anyone else.
From the looks of it, he seemed to be the true leader.
Turning his head and seeing Lin Jue looking at him, the old man was caught off guard as well. Setting down the steamed bun in his hand with a chuckle, he said, "Young sir, you haven't come to make me pay for your hair, have you?"
Lin Jue followed his cousin, stepping closer to them.
"Just passing through?"
"Just passing through."
"Then we share quite a bit of affinity!"
"Indeed we do." Lin Jue nodded, glanced from side to side at the group, and after a moment's thought, asked, "You're all together?"
"Ai!"
The old man shook his head helplessly and cupped his hands toward the sky with a grin. "Nothing more than tricks to entertain the spectators. Not worth mentioning."
"I see..."
"Not worth mentioning at all."
"Understood, understood."
Likely some people in the crowd had seen through the act or already knew such routines. Yet just as the old man had said, these were merely tricks used by performers to entertain the spectators and earn some coin; there was truly no need to expose them.
Lin Jue had already been following his cousin, walking slowly past the troupe of performers. Yet he was truly puzzled, so he paused and turned back to ask, "May I ask, elder, was the trick performed today—that Fire-Spitting Art—a magical art or divine ability?"
"Magical arts?" The old man was just about to bite into his flatbread, but paused. Frowning, he said, "If you say it isn't a magical art, it's certainly no ordinary method. But if you say it is, should some master with true cultivation and real ability overhear, they'd probably laugh at us."
Which meant it was indeed a magical art.
"Then..."
Lin Jue didn't know how to phrase it at first. Organizing his words, he asked, "Aren't those who know magical arts all lofty cultivators? Why would you work so hard to earn this meager coin, elder?"
"Hahaha! What Immortals? What lofty masters? It's just a few little tricks! It can't help us steal, and it can't help us rob. If we don't earn this hard money, what else would we do?" The old man threw his head back and laughed. "Besides, we only came from the Capital to attend the Daoist assembly at Mount Qiyun Xuantian Temple. We're just resting our feet along the way and earning a bit of travel money."
Hearing this, the middle-aged juggler nodded as well. "Earning money with your own skill isn't shameful no matter how you earn it—cheating and swindling are what's shameful! Besides, this is an honest Stage Magic Art handed down from our ancestors, meant to be performed for audiences to watch!"
"That makes sense." Lin Jue nodded thoughtfully, then added, "The Daoist assembly at Qiyun Mountain?"
"That's right..."
"Might I ask what that is?"
"You live right here and don't even know Qiyun Mountain? It's one of the famous Daoist mountains. This year's Grand Daoist Ritual is being held at Mount Qiyun Xuantian Temple, so we're all heading there to join in the excitement."
"A famous mountain..."
Lin Jue frowned in thought.
"It's getting dark, young sirs. Don't think too much on it, and hurry on home," the old man said with a chuckle.
"Pardon me for asking one more thing, but when is the Daoist assembly?"
"You've listened to too many stories, young sir. Even if you yearn to cultivate the Dao and become an Immortal, don't set your mind on such things. Head home." The old man waved a hand with a smile, wearing the look of someone who had seen plenty of wide-eyed youths like them, though he remained amiable enough.
"Then thank you for your guidance."
Following the customs of this world, Lin Jue bowed to them to show respect, then turned and left with his cousin.
Yet he couldn't help glancing back as he walked.
The jugglers were still sitting there, each munching flatbread, sipping water, and chatting in low voices.
He wondered what tricks they would perform tomorrow.
Or what show they would put on.
Lin Jue simply quickened his pace alongside his cousin.
They managed to make it home just before night fell.
Lin Jue handed the medicinal herbs over to his aunt for safekeeping and, before even eating, returned to his room.
Taking out the Ancient Book, he hurried to flip it open.
Sure enough, a new entry had appeared within the book:
The Fire-Spitting Art is a Stage Magic Art.