Chapter 207 — The Keeper's Price

CHAPTER 207

The Keeper's Price

“Grade Three,” Shi Feng said.

Song Tai, keeper of the Puppet Array, wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It was the third time that evening, and Shi Feng had only said five words.

The array hall was a windowless stone barn at the outer court’s far end. Iron strips held its door together. Inside, rows of numbered wooden puppets stood beneath faded array lines. Their battered frames made Zhu Liu stop at the threshold.

“Outer disciples may use Grade One and Grade Two,” Song Tai said. “It's written on the door.”

“I read the door,” Shi Feng said. “It says the keeper can raise the grade if he agrees.”

“And this keeper doesn’t agree!” Song Tai said, wiping his forehead again. “Grade Three broke a disciple’s arm in two places last year. Courting death isn’t training! Do you expect me to pretend that didn’t happen?”

“Was he late Foundation Establishment?” Shi Feng asked.

Song Tai opened his mouth, then closed it. Behind Shi Feng, Zhu Liu was holding a fresh receipt book against his chest. He had been told to follow the champion everywhere. He was beginning to regret how literally he took orders.

“Should I write that down?” Zhu Liu whispered.

“Not yet,” Shi Feng said.

Lin Langtian’s ‘tofu’ insult still annoyed Shi Feng. He wanted to test the advice, though. The sect had a training array standing idle, and he wouldn’t leave without finding out what its puppets could teach him.

He took a small bottle from his sleeve and set it on the keeper's desk.

“Marrow-Warming Pills,” Shi Feng said. “Six of them.”

Song Tai didn't touch the bottle. His eyes went to it anyway. Then his hand went to the small of his back, where it had been resting since Shi Feng walked in.

“For old injuries,” Shi Feng said. “Lifting puppets, for example.”

“How did you…” Song Tai began.

“You've had one hand on your back since I walked in,” Shi Feng said.

The keeper's face went through three expressions. The last one was shame, and underneath it was hope.

“One bottle isn't worth a whole grade,” Song Tai said weakly.

“Then start me on Grade Two,” Shi Feng said. “Half the session there, half at Grade Three. You get the bottle tonight. Tomorrow I’ll bring another, and we can discuss Grade Four.”

“Tomorrow?” Song Tai said.

“I'll be back every night,” Shi Feng said. “The array hall is open. Nobody else uses it.”

That was true. Song Tai looked at the empty benches and the cobwebs on the door, and his shoulders dropped.

“Grade Three,” Song Tai said. “But if you die, the pills were a gift!”

“Zhu Liu,” Shi Feng said.

“Yes!” Zhu Liu opened the book. “Received, one bottle of Marrow-Warming Pills, six pills, in exchange for…” He stopped. “What do I write for the second part?”

“Beating,” Shi Feng said.

Zhu Liu wrote it down very slowly, in very small characters.

The Grade Three puppet hit like a mule.

Song Tai had been right about that. Its wooden arm swung out of the dark, and Shi Feng turned his shoulder a half-breath too late. The blow lifted him off the floor and put him against the wall.

Crack.

He slid down and sat there for a moment. His ribs hurt. His teeth hurt, which was impressive, because the blow hadn't touched his face.

[Devoured: Grade Three puppet blow | Gain: very small | Note: sore]

Shi Feng stood up.

The Physique had swallowed the shock and given back a thin warmth along his bones. He thought, So the body does learn. It just needs to be hit in the same place enough times.

He walked back to the middle of the floor. The puppet reset its stance with a soft click.

Zhu Liu was watching through the door crack, clutching the receipt book.

“Is this normal?” Zhu Liu asked.

“That blow? Yes,” Song Tai said from his desk. “A Grade Three puppet always hits that hard. Him getting straight back up? I don’t know what to tell you.”

The second blow hit his arm. The third hit his ribs again. By the tenth, Shi Feng had stopped turning too late and started turning on time. By the twentieth, the puppet's wooden fist missed his chin by a finger's width, and Song Tai said “Oh!” in a high voice.

He went home bruised and hungry. At the door of his hut he found a sweet potato on the step, still warm, with a note stuck into it.

TOFU NEEDS SALT.

He ate the potato.

The next night he brought a second bottle and a plain request.

“Grade Four,” Shi Feng said.

“Already?” Song Tai said.

“It's one bottle,” Shi Feng said. “Same price.”

The keeper looked at the pills. He looked at the door. Then he reached for the bottle with the hand that wasn't holding his back.

On the fourth night, Shi Feng asked for Grade Five. Song Tai finally stopped arguing. He counted the pills, tucked them away, and checked the funeral money in his drawer. If the champion insisted, he could at least be ready.

On the sixth night, Shi Feng hit the Grade Five puppet first.

The arm dropped off.

Everyone in the array hall stared at it.

“That's not supposed to come off,” Song Tai said.