Chapter 159 — Sixteen

CHAPTER 159

Sixteen

Sima Lan reached the notice court before the officials carried out the final board.

She stood beneath Moon Lake's small banner with the cut beside her collarbone freshly covered. The puppet strike had left one shoulder stiff enough that she kept the arm close to her side.

Shi Feng arrived with Duan Yichen as Zhou Ke lifted the board onto its hooks.

No one cheered immediately.

Three score columns stood beside the names, followed by the final order. A heavy line separated the sixteenth candidate from the seventeenth.

Shi Feng found his own name near the top. All three measured performances had placed him comfortably within the qualifying group. He didn't need to claim the highest result in each trial to get what he wanted.

Then he looked lower.

Fourteenth: Lu Ting, Great Wu.

Fifteenth: Duan Yichen, Great Zhao.

Sixteenth: Sima Lan, Moon Lake Sect.

Seventeenth: Cen Ruchen, Great Wei.

The difference was narrow enough to make both names draw a crowd.

Sima Lan read the three columns carefully.

The pressure stair had cost her. The illusion garden had brought her back into reach. The fourth puppet joint, touched just before the final breath, had carried her over the line.

She hadn't been inserted by a royal request. The officials' numbers showed every piece of the route.

Cen Ruchen stood beside the board with his arms folded. He was a late Foundation Establishment swordsman, neat in grey, with dust still caught along one boot from the pressure stair.

“Close,” Cen Ruchen said.

“Yes,” Sima Lan replied.

“I should have taken the fourth joint first,” Cen Ruchen said.

“I almost missed it,” Sima Lan replied.

He looked at her shoulder, then back at the board.

“Almost isn't the score,” Cen Ruchen said.

He gave her a short nod and moved away. Disappointment remained on his face, but he didn't ask the officials to turn it into a new rule.

Sima Lan watched him go before allowing herself a slow breath.

Duan Yichen had qualified without needing the final few points.

He read his line, checked the seal and grinned toward Shi Feng.

“No grain accounts in the main bracket,” Duan Yichen said.

“Only swords,” Shi Feng replied.

“And spears,” Gu Zhan added from behind them.

The one-eyed youth leaned between their shoulders to read the board. He found his own name, nodded as though the result confirmed that lunch would be served, and began looking for the next draw time.

Gongsun Ce stood farther down, comparing the puppet column with the other trials. His technical result had been among the best. Yuan Kuang looked displeased that his pressure score hadn't put him above everyone, while Xiahou Lie was asking a clerk whether they kept the stair open for ordinary training.

Bai Chenxi read the list once and left.

Ling Qingzhu remained nearby with her veil in place. Her completed results had earned a clear qualification. Nothing beside her name identified what she had withheld.

Shi Feng gave her a brief nod when she looked toward him.

She returned it and stepped away from the board.

The loudest noise came from the tea stall.

Qiao Ping had brought the witnessed bet to the notice court in a small wooden tray. Han Zheng stood beside him with two White Crane disciples and no useful objection left to make.

“Shi Feng qualified,” Qiao Ping said.

“I can read,” Han Zheng replied.

“Then we agree on the result,” Qiao Ping said.

The neighbouring stallkeeper checked the sealed purse and counted the forty stones in front of them. Twenty returned to Qiao Ping from his own stake. Twenty came from the steward.

A crowd gathered close enough to see every stone.

“He said the cripple wouldn't make it!”

“Perhaps he meant some other cripple!”

“White Crane's steward has paid for two lessons now!”

Han Zheng's ears reddened.

He reached for his empty purse, then realized it looked worse to snatch it away. He accepted it slowly and tucked it beneath his sleeve.

Qiao Ping bowed with maddening politeness.

“Thank you for settling promptly,” Qiao Ping said.

Han Zheng left before the stallkeeper finished putting away the tray.

Shi Feng watched from the edge of the court.

He hadn't asked for the bet, won any part of it or promised Qiao Ping a favour. The tea seller had listened to a public claim and made a public wager. The result belonged to the man who had insisted certainty was worth twenty stones.

Duan Yichen looked amused.

“Will he try a third bet?” Duan Yichen asked.

“He may run out of purse first,” Shi Feng replied.

They moved aside to let an official carry a fresh notice through the crowd.

Lu Yong's seal marked the draw schedule and the placement rules. Every round-of-sixteen loser would enter an eight-person placement bracket. Four would advance, then two. Those two would secure the remaining recruitment places and fight to decide ninth and tenth.

Sima Lan stood close enough to read over Shi Feng's shoulder.

“So a first loss doesn't end the top-ten route,” Sima Lan said.

“For any of the eight,” Shi Feng replied.

She nodded. The rule offered no private advantage to a princess. It offered the same hard path to everyone who would fall in the next round.

At sunset, the candidates' gate closed behind the final scores.

Shi Feng put his plate into the everyday bag beside the tower badge. The little shoulder joint from the equipment court sat wrapped below them, waiting for a quiet hour when he could study how it had broken.

He had qualified, passed his examination and returned a dead man's belongings. The day had contained enough useful work.

At the inn, Kang Liu asked whether he wanted his usual table.

Shi Feng nodded and sat near the back.

Outside, people argued over the sixteen names until the kitchen shutters closed. Upstairs, a lamp remained lit over the small practice furnace.

Before the draw, candidates had to confirm that they would remain in the field. Zhou Ke had repeated the deadline twice. Shi Feng marked it beside the appointment in his bag, then returned to checking the sword edge.

Tomorrow would bring the draw.