Chapter Twenty-One: New Year's Eve

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Snow fell heavily as the year’s end approached. The cold was biting, and fewer pedestrians wandered the streets. Regardless of wealth or status, every household busied itself with preparations for the New Year, each in its own way.

Business had grown increasingly difficult. By month’s end, Jiang Xiaodao and Old Cui stopped venturing out altogether, waiting instead for the temple fair to begin.

During the day, Jiang Xiaodao studied wordplay and auspicious phrases under Old Cui’s tutelage; at night, with nothing else to do, he lay on the kang bed, practicing the jargon of the underworld.

The art of coded language—known as “spring points”—might seem shrouded in mystery, but once explained, it was far less enigmatic.

Its patterns relied on dialect, symbolism, homophony, and metaphor. For instance, the character “fire” symbolized wealth and prosperity; conversely, “water” stood for poverty.

By extension, a “fire point” meant a wealthy person; “fire cave” denoted a profitable place; “fire kiln” referred to a rich household or shop; “fire work” meant prosperous business; and “hanging fire” described dressing extravagantly. The opposite applied when using “water.”

Thus, even when traveling to distant provinces where the slang varied, seasoned practitioners could roughly interpret meanings by focusing on the “fire” and “water” terms.

Similarly, “pestle” symbolized earned money, while beyond the border, “rice” was also used.

From this, “pestle door” meant a way to earn money; “dividing pestle” referred to splitting earnings; “concealing pestle” meant secretly pocketing money; “welcoming pestle” was an entrance fee or lucky opening; “first pestle” indicated the initial profit of a deal; “second pestle” the second share; “last pestle” the final portion; and “scraping pestle” meant undermining or stealing someone’s livelihood.

Mastering this jargon opened the door to understanding countless others.

“Sharp” meant true; “inside” and “fishy” meant false.

A competent veteran in the underworld was always sharp with a hint of inside knowledge, and inside knowledge with a sharp edge.

Only then could one make money; otherwise, one became either an empty talker or a foolish doer.

Skill accounted for thirty percent, and bluffing seventy.

Talent alone could only earn a one-time profit; once depleted, not only would one fail to make money, but also cut off fellow practitioners’ livelihoods.

Therefore, storytellers never finished their tales, and fortune-tellers never spoke in absolutes.

Old Cui taught all these intricacies to Jiang Xiaodao.

Though young, Jiang Xiaodao was quick to learn. Within days, common slang, nuances, and underworld rules were ingrained in his mind, filling him with pride.

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Old Cui could not help but admonish, “Xiaodao, now that you’ve opened your spring point and paid homage to the mountain spirit, you’re half an underworld man, though not yet fully independent. There’s a saying you must always remember!”

“What’s that?” Jiang Xiaodao asked.

“Better to lose ten coins than to betray your craft; better to lose an ingot than to reveal a single spring point,” Old Cui said earnestly. “Never blurt out your secrets before outsiders—beware of bringing trouble upon yourself!”

Jiang Xiaodao pondered for a moment, then knelt on the kang and struck three resounding bows to Old Cui.

Old Cui quickly stopped him. “What are you doing?”

Jiang Xiaodao replied, “You won’t let me call you master, but you’ve taught me so much. With the New Year coming, I owe you these bows!”

Old Cui demurred, “Don’t say that! Even if I didn’t teach you, your father would have sooner or later. Besides, what I know is just the surface! There are always better people, and endless paths in every line of work. To truly learn it all might take a lifetime!”

“But the begging craft, after all, is what you taught me!”

“Well… yes, that’s true,” Old Cui said awkwardly, laughing at himself. “Honestly, this trade isn’t hard. You don’t need great skill—just humility and a smile, and a little know-how. Everyone can make something. To be frank, we compete for scraps from the truly hungry. Sometimes, it’s quite shameful!”

Jiang Xiaodao was surprised.

He had once looked down on beggars, and Old Cui had argued in their defense. Now, hearing this candid admission, he sensed a reluctance in his mentor’s heart.

Though the craft valued a down-and-out appearance, who wished to remain destitute forever?

Besides, it was a marginal trade, never respectable.

Old Cui sighed softly. “Among the eight gates—those who make noise and those who prosper—what about us beggars? After half a lifetime on the road, when people mention Old Cui, it’s still those three words: beggar! Sigh… I might as well have wasted my life!”

Jiang Xiaodao was not skilled in comforting others, but after days of street begging, he had learned some soothing words. He said, “Old Cui, don’t be discouraged! I’ll help you make noise!”

“Help me?”

“Yes!” Jiang Xiaodao patted his chest. “When I make a name for myself, and someone asks who showed me the ropes, I’ll say it was Old Cui from Fengtian! How about that?”

Old Cui was stunned, suddenly touched, and smiled foolishly. “No, no, no! You’re the son of ‘Sea Old Owl’—that name alone carries weight. If you want to mention me, just say some Old Cui helped you open your spring point. That’s enough; I can’t handle anything grander.”

Jiang Xiaodao chuckled, “Okay!”

The old and the young curled up on the kang, dreaming aloud, their smiles foolish and sweet.

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“Xiaodao, I’ll tell you a secret: after the New Year and finishing the top-tier begging business, I plan to retire.”

“What? I’m just starting out, and you’re retiring?” Jiang Xiaodao asked. “Why?”

“I’m old! I can’t keep running around! To make a living begging, your legs must be swift. When I was young, I ran everywhere and saved some money—not much, but enough. These years, my legs got frostbitten and I can’t travel far, only around Fengtian. I thought, better to quit now.”

“Thinking of getting married?”

“You’re surprisingly perceptive!” Old Cui considered a moment. “If I find the right one, maybe.”

…

New Year’s Eve.

Old Cui warmed two buns bought earlier, cooked a pot of porridge, and ate with some salty vegetable lumps, sitting with Jiang Xiaodao on the kang. Outside, the firecrackers exploded as they enjoyed their modest New Year’s meal.

Jiang Xiaodao cursed between bites, “My father and the others are definitely eating dumplings now! So unfair—I hope they choke!”

Old Cui consoled him, “Be grateful! At least you have something to eat. One year, I was in Hebei and my New Year’s meal was just two sweet potatoes!”

Suddenly, urgent knocks sounded at the door.

They exchanged a glance and opened it to find Guan Wei carrying two parcels.

“Old Cui, Happy New Year!” Guan Wei smiled as he stepped inside and sat on the kang’s edge. “Xiaodao, come over and pay your respects to Sixth Uncle. He has a gift for you!”

Jiang Xiaodao’s nose twitched; from the moment the door opened, he smelled the aroma of dumplings and his mouth watered. He knelt immediately, bowing deeply in greeting.

“Sixth Uncle, Happy New Year! From tomorrow on, may you achieve great plans and abundant wealth!”

“Ha! Well done, boy! You know your auspicious phrases now?” Guan Wei was slightly surprised. “I thought you’d just rush in to snatch dumplings!”