Chapter 214 — The Lump the Ledger Refused

CHAPTER 214

The Lump the Ledger Refused

“Eight years of floor sweepings,” Zhu Liu said. “The sect master wouldn't let anyone throw them out. He said it was iron, and iron can be sold.”

Shi Feng looked into the barrel. Grey dust, ash and charcoal ends lay mixed together. In the middle he could see bright flakes of spirit iron, a few curls of bronze and one lost button.

“Did he say anything else?” Shi Feng asked.

“He said if you make a needle out of it, the sect master wants half the profit,” Zhu Liu said. “I wrote that down.”

“Of course he did,” Shi Feng said.

They worked through the morning with a sieve and a wet cloth. Zhu Liu separated ash from bright flakes, counting aloud so he wouldn’t lose his place. Shi Feng picked out the larger pieces. By noon, their usable metal made a small heap beside a much larger pile of dust.

Shi Feng dropped the whole heap into the crucible, dust and all.

“Senior Brother Shi,” Zhu Liu said. “Shouldn't you leave the dust out?”

“There isn't enough without it,” Shi Feng said.

He lit the fire. The six days of lying on the floor had left him with one useful thing: a lot of time to think about Sima Lan's wall. He remembered every word. Six strikes, an even rhythm, then a pause, then the seventh. You flinch before the seventh.

Shi Feng thought, She heard the fault that I missed. This time the seventh strike comes down with the rest. No pause.

He drew the metal out glowing and began to hammer.

Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike.

On the other side of his wall, something went quiet. It took him a moment to understand what it was. The scratch of a brush had stopped, and somebody was listening.

The seventh stroke landed without a pause.

The metal didn't swell. It didn't crack or fold. For the first time in a hundred and thirteen tries, it did nothing at all except sit under the hammer and take the blows. Shi Feng almost smiled. Then the glow went out of it all at once and the iron turned black.

He stared at it.

The thing on the anvil was not a needle. It was a rough, dark lump the size of a quail's egg, nearly round, with a dull shine. It gave off a smell of cold ash and something much older.

“Is that a lump?” Zhu Liu asked.

“I think so,” Shi Feng said.

“It doesn’t look like the others,” Zhu Liu said, edging closer to examine it.

“It cooled too fast as well,” Shi Feng said, keeping the tongs between his hand and the metal.

Shi Feng picked it up with the tongs and turned it over. It was heavier than it looked, and the heat left it much too fast. As he lifted it closer, the Physique stirred in his stomach, hungry from six days of lying still.

He thought, Maybe a shaving, this time. Just a small one.

The Ledger spoke before the knife touched it.

[Devoured: refused | Note: no]

Shi Feng stopped.

The Ledger had accepted bitter pills, burnt residue, cavern fire, and even raw spirit iron. Shi Feng was alarmed. This was its first refusal. Whatever lay in that black lump, his physique wanted nothing to do with it.

“Senior Brother Shi?” Zhu Liu asked.

“Don't touch it,” Shi Feng said.

Zhu Liu pulled his hands behind his back and stood very straight.

Shi Feng set the lump down on the table. It sat there without a sound. He thought, The Physique has eaten worse things than this. So why won't it eat this? He did not like not knowing.

He couldn’t answer that question with the tools he had. There was no fresh iron left, and half the barrel still waited. He put the lump aside. For now, it was something he couldn’t use.

“Sell it,” Shi Feng said.

“Sell it?” Zhu Liu repeated. “To whom?”

“The scrap peddler who comes to the gate every fifth day. Today's his day,” Shi Feng said.

Zhu Liu looked at the lump and took a step back. Then he took out his receipt book, wrote Received, one lump, black. Sold, one copper, and picked the lump up with the same tongs.

The peddler was a thin man with a handcart and a big straw hat. He turned the lump over in his hand while Zhu Liu stood beside him.

“Half a copper,” the peddler said. “It's black iron. It doesn't even shine right.”

“The receipt says one copper,” Zhu Liu said.

“Who writes the price before the sale? The buyer is never as shrewd as the seller, boy,” the scrap peddler said.

“I do,” Zhu Liu said stiffly. “I've already written it.”

The peddler stared. Zhu Liu didn’t blink. He’d written one copper and refused to alter the dried ink. It was stubborn, ridiculous bargaining, but he stood there with the receipt held out until the old man gave in.

“One copper,” the peddler said at last.

He weighed the lump in his hand once more. His palm dipped a little lower than a lump that size should have made it, and for a breath he did not move at all. Then he dropped it into the bottom of his basket, laid a rag over it and put a single copper in Zhu Liu's palm.

“Good day, young brother,” the peddler said, and walked away rather faster than a man with a heavy cart should.

Zhu Liu came back with the coin held out in front of him.

“It's the first money the refining forge has ever earned,” Zhu Liu said. He sounded as if he might cry. “I'll record it.”

Shi Feng watched the cart disappear around the corner of the outer wall. He had never seen a scrap peddler in a hurry before.

Behind him, the forge fire popped. Half the barrel was still waiting.