Chapter 220 — The Ten-Percent Stall

CHAPTER 220

The Ten-Percent Stall

Zhu Liu reached the outer-court gate with a stool in one arm and his receipt book in the other. He kept glancing at the supervisor’s office. A stall seemed harmless enough, but his senior brother’s harmless plans had worried him before.

“Senior Brother Shi, the gate supervisor wants to know if this is allowed,” Zhu Liu said.

“Is it?” Shi Feng asked.

“Nobody has written a rule against it,” Zhu Liu said. “Supervisor Cui Hong says that means it's allowed until somebody does.”

Shi Feng set the cracked cauldron on a flat stone beside the gatepost. He'd patched the crack with clay and a bent iron band. It looked ugly, but it held heat. A small portable furnace went down next to it, and then a wooden board he had painted that morning.

Zhu Liu read the board twice.

ALCHEMY. BRING YOUR OWN INGREDIENTS. ONE SET IN, ONE PILL OUT. FEE: ONE TENTH.

“One tenth of what?” Zhu Liu asked.

“The ingredients,” Shi Feng said. “I keep one tenth of what they bring. The rest comes back as a pill.”

“But Sky Pavilion charges,” Zhu Liu said.

“Sixty percent,” Shi Feng said. “I know.”

Zhu Liu swallowed. The Duanyang tower's notice hung on the wall of every outer-court dormitory. Sixty percent of the materials as fees before the furnace was even lit, and failures were the customer's problem. A disciple who saved for three sets of herbs often walked away with one pill, if the Pavilion's alchemist felt lucky that day.

Shi Feng thought, That's why nobody here can afford to cultivate. The sect isn't poor only in the treasury. Its disciples are poor too.

He sat down on the bare stone. Zhu Liu placed the stool beside him, opened the receipt book and dipped his brush. His hand shook a little.

“What do I write for the first customer?” Zhu Liu asked.

“His name, his ingredients, the fee,” Shi Feng said.

“And if nobody comes?” Zhu Liu asked, looking along the empty space before the board.

“Leave room for them,” Shi Feng said. “Put the date down first. We’ve only just opened.”

The morning crowd came through the gate. Disciples in grey outer-court robes carried buckets, baskets and bundles of firewood. Every one of them slowed down to read the board. Then they sped up again.

“An alchemy stall at the gate?”

“A tenth? Who does that? Pies don't fall from the sky.”

“That's the champion. The one sweeping for the Sect Master.”

“Heard he lives in the broken hut. What's he going to brew, mud?”

“…”

Shi Feng lit the furnace anyway and brewed a test batch of his own herbs, so the scent would carry. The flame came up steady and clean. Two disciples with firewood slowed down to sniff the air, then remembered they were in a hurry.

By noon the sun was hot enough to make the clay patch tick. Cui Hong strolled past with his arrival board and read the sign without comment. Zheng Yu followed, a brush behind each ear, and paused with his mouth open.

“Senior Brother, is that really a tenth?” Zheng Yu asked.

“It's on the board,” Shi Feng said.

“The Pavilion would send people to complain,” Zheng Yu said.

“Then I’ll hear them out,” Shi Feng said, patting the stool. “They can stand if they dislike the seating.”

Zheng Yu laughed, glanced at Cui Hong and became serious again. They moved on.

By dusk, Zhu Liu's receipt book held one line. It read: Day one. Customers: none. Ingredients received: none. Fee collected: none.

He showed it to Shi Feng very carefully, as if the paper might bite.

“Should we pack up?” Zhu Liu asked.

“Not yet,” Shi Feng said.

Outer-court disciples hurried along the road toward the dining hall, glancing at the stall and looking away again. Not one came close. Shi Feng thought, They want to. Nobody wants to be the first fool.

Two girls with a laundry basket stopped a few steps from the board. One of them was whispering so loudly that Shi Feng could have repeated it word for word.

“Did you hear? The Valley posted its new inner register yesterday. A messenger passing through told the kitchen.”

“Hundred Flower Valley? Whose name is on it?”

“Ling Qingzhu. First place! Above all the inner disciples, and she only joined this season.”

“First fairy of Great Liang. Of course she is. Some toads lust after swan meat all their lives.”

“Isn't she the one who...”

“Hush! He's right there.”

Both girls hurried off, pretending to look for a lost shoe.

Shi Feng didn't turn his head. His left hand had moved to his belt before he noticed. His thumb rested on the violet purse string, the same one he'd never untied. It stayed there, pressing.

First place. Of course.

He thought, She would reach it. She always had the talent. That has nothing to do with me.

Zhu Liu noticed the thumb pressing the violet string. He was curious, but Shi Feng hadn’t asked him anything. The boy lowered his head to the receipt book and quietly waited.

Shi Feng took his hand away from the string. It took longer than it should have.

“Leave the stool out tonight,” Shi Feng said.

Zhu Liu looked at the empty road, then at the receipt book, and nodded as if he had been asked to guard a grave.