The copper knocker of the Prince's mansion jingled in the autumn breeze. Uncle Zhou sat in a rattan chair, tying his silken bracelet made of three-year-old croton kernels. The bracelet was made by the young master, Kenkeng, from three-year-old croton kernels, and was said to "protect against pitfalls and ensure safety." He squinted at the gray figure at the alley entrance—an old man in a gray cloth shirt wandered by for the nth time, his toes visible from the holes in his shoes. The copper coins at his waist clattered, startling the sparrows pecking at the croton powder under the eaves.
"What's floating in the sky?" Zhou Bo squeezed out a secret signal from between his teeth, rubbing the croton bracelet in his palm with a rustling sound.
"Croton powder!" the old man blurted out, his goatee shaking like straw in the autumn wind, and grains of rice from last night still stained the corners of his mouth.
Uncle Zhou spat out the melon seed shells and said, "No! My young master scattered the laxative powder on West Street yesterday. Widow Wang stepped on it this morning and slid two miles away holding the jar of pickled cabbage, like she was doing a shaman dance!" He was just about to close the carved wooden door when the old man suddenly stuffed a jujube wood crutch into the crack. The top of the crooked crutch had the word "pit" carved on it, and the paint had all fallen off.
"Tell your master to come out!" The old man's voice shook the doorknob. He pulled a tattered banner from his sleeve pocket. The red cloth had faded to a pale pink. The gold-embroidered "Kengshen Sect" was missing the word "Shen". "I am the 38th generation leader of the Kengshen Sect. I have come to seek a destined person to inherit my mantle!"
When the news reached the main hall, Shen Weiwan was squatting at the Eight Immortals table, watching Wa Wa making croton flour buns. The rosewood table was covered with a snow-white cloth, and her daughter's delicate little hands, stained with the shimmering croton powder, felt like they were kneading broken silver. Chun Tao entered, bearing a celadon plate filled with croton cakes shaped like gold ingots, which jingled loudly. "Miss! The concierge said a crazy old man has arrived, holding a tattered banner and offering to take you in as his apprentice!"
"Taking on a disciple?" Chen Weiwan raised an eyebrow, the croton powder on her fingertips leaving a small smudge on the tablecloth. She picked up a bun and bit into it, splattering the scalding croton filling onto her moon-white skirt. "Let him in. It's a good time to try out the new five-nut croton filling—Kengkeng said it wasn't sweet enough yesterday, so I added three spoonfuls of honey."
A moment later, the old man, trembling with a cane, stepped through the threshold. The "keng" (pit) embroidered on his robe was so crooked it looked like it had been gnawed by mice. The string of copper coins at his waist jingled three times with every step, startling the swallows from the beams. He glanced at the table full of Croton-flowered dim sum and suddenly slapped the pearwood table, causing a few drops of Croton-flowered tea to spill from the teacup. "Girl, would you like to become my disciple and learn the secret of the Kyushu-wide pit?"
Shen Weiwan slowly wiped the corner of her mouth, her fingertips rubbing the powder stains on the tablecloth: "First, tell me, how does this trick of the Pit God Cult compare to the 'Croton Triple Pit' of my Pit God Cult?"
"Hmph!" The old man stroked his tangled beard and pulled out a gilded lacquer box from his sleeve pocket. The inscription on the lid, "Getting something for nothing," had fallen off half its gold foil. "Look! This is a secret treasure passed down by our sect's founder—" He lifted the lid, revealing a grayish-blue tile with a chipped edge. "Back then, I used this tile to swindle three baskets of osmanthus cakes in Nanchu, and there wasn't even a drop of dust left at the bottom of the baskets!"
"Grandpa, I have something even more powerful!" He suddenly emerged from under the table. His brocade waistcoat was stained with croton powder from the bottom of the table, and he held up an oil-paper bag. "This is the 'Keng Shen Dan'. Eating it can allow a person to ascend to the immortal realm. It's much more effective than your broken tile!"
The old man's eyes lit up like a lamp, and when he came forward, his beard almost brushed against the oil-paper bag: "Oh? Let me take a look!"
Shen Weiwan kicked her son's butt with her toe, and Henkeng immediately opened the paper bag and poured the dark brown powder into the blue and white teacup. The hot water washed over it, and a pungent aroma rose. "This is made by my mother using three-year-old croton seeds," he said, holding up the teacup as a treasure. "Drinking this will make you spiritual. Even the King of Hell will have to make way for you!"
The old man, unsuspecting, drank the tea in one gulp, smacking his lips as his Adam's apple rolled. "Hmm? Why is it a little sweet?" Before he could finish his words, his stomach suddenly churned. He clutched his belly and jumped up, jabbing his jujube wood cane against the brick floor. "You... you dared to put a curse in my tea!"
"This is called the 'Pit God Pill,'" Chen Weiwan said, pulling out a handkerchief embroidered with a crooked croton flower, wiping her hands. "It's for the god of the toilet. Chuntao, take this old man to the toilet in the east wing, and don't let him poop on the Persian carpet—it's a gift from the Northern Di envoys. If he gets it dirty, he'll have to pay ten taels of silver."
Three days later, early in the morning, the old man emerged from the hut, leaning against the wall. His robe was wrinkled like a pickled vegetable leaf, and his face was so thin you could see his cheekbones. He pointed at Chen Weiwan, who was cracking melon seeds in the corridor. His lips were trembling so much that he couldn't speak. The copper coin string around his waist had stopped jingling—perhaps it had all fallen off.
"It's mutual," Chen Weiwan waved the bill in her hand. Written on the rice paper with croton powder ink was the following: "Medical expenses three taels, laxative costs five taels, mental damage compensation two taels." "You sang 'Ode to the Pit God' in the toilet for three nights, and the neighbors all brought stools to listen to the opera. Is it not too much to charge a venue fee?"
The old man's beard stood on end with rage. He fished a piece of silver from his pocket and threw it on the stone table. Then he turned and ran, leaning on his cane. Even after running two miles, he could still hear her cursing: "You vicious woman! More vicious than a stone in a toilet!" Henkeng chased her to the gate, holding up half a piece of croton cake. "Grandpa, come back next time for 'Ascension Tea'! I'll add extra honey this time, so you can have a smoother bowel movement!"
A faint laugh echoed from behind the screen. Xiao Yu walked out, twirling the croton powder chess piece in his hand. The hem of his dark brocade robe swept across the croton shells on the ground. "Madam, I'm afraid the leader of the Pit God Cult will have to take a detour."
"Who said that?" Chen Weiwan picked up the broken silver and held it up to the sunlight. "If he dares to come again, I'll have Hekeng use the newly developed 'Lianhuanxie' as tea - the big yellow dog on West Street drank it yesterday and has been squatting in the toilet until now, wagging its tail and asking for laxatives whenever it sees anyone."
That night, Chen Weiwan lay on the couch counting banknotes while Xiao Yu helped her pick out the croton powder stuck in her hair. From outside the window came the sounds of pits and wa-was. In the moonlight, she could see two little figures squatting beside a rockery, drawing a crooked trap with croton powder. Next to them was a wooden sign: "Delicious snacks inside. Rats, please don't enter"—a picture of a rat with diarrhea in the corner.
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