Chapter 222 — A Test for a Fraud

CHAPTER 222

A Test for a Fraud

A bundle landed on the stall's flat stone.

It was wrapped in grey cloth and tied with a precise knot. Shi Feng looked up from the furnace and saw Sima Lan standing on the other side of the board. The dusk made her plain robe look darker. Behind her the road was almost empty, because the outer-court disciples had already gone to eat.

“Princess Sima Lan,” Zhu Liu said, standing up so fast that the stool fell over.

“Outer-court disciple,” Sima Lan said coldly. “Pick up your stool.”

Zhu Liu picked up his stool.

“One tenth,” Sima Lan said, studying the board. “At least the figures are clear. You could improve the handwriting.”

“The fee is one tenth,” Shi Feng said.

“One set in, one pill out,” Sima Lan said. “Today I'm testing whether you're a fraud.”

“Then watch closely,” Shi Feng said, drawing the bundle toward him. “You brought the ingredients?”

He untied the cloth. Inside lay silverroot, marrow vine and a pinch of frost-lotus seed, each wrapped in its own scrap of paper. The herbs were fresh. They'd been bought carefully, from a stall that didn't water the leaves.

Shi Feng sniffed the silverroot once and checked the marrow vine's cut end. Sima Lan watched his fingers instead of his face.

“Clear Marrow Pill,” Shi Feng said. “For late Foundation Establishment, pushing toward peak.”

“Yes,” Sima Lan said.

“Who sold you the herbs?” Shi Feng said.

“The market below the outer gate. Why?” Sima Lan said.

“They're good,” Shi Feng said. “You paid a fair price.”

Sima Lan looked relieved by his judgment, although she tried not to show it. Zhu Liu noticed and bent over the book. He didn’t want her catching him staring during their first real sale.

“Name?” Zhu Liu asked in a squeaky voice.

“Sima Lan,” Sima Lan said.

“Ingredients received, three kinds,” Zhu Liu muttered. “Fee, one tenth, to be kept as powder.”

“Weigh it in front of me,” Sima Lan said.

Shi Feng split off a tenth of each herb on a small scale, and she checked the weights without leaning in. Then he put the rest into the cauldron.

The flame was steady and low. He fed in the silverroot first, then the vine, and let the frost-lotus seeds go last, when the smell turned sweet. Sima Lan stood perfectly still. The remaining outer-court stragglers drifted toward the stall without admitting they'd stopped walking.

“He's actually making one,” someone whispered.

“For the princess?”

“She's testing him, idiot. Real gold fears no fire.”

“…”

The pill fell out of the cauldron and rolled across the cloth. It was pearl-white, round, with a single faint ring around its middle. It rang softly against the stone, like a bead.

“A perfect one,” a man at the back murmured. “I've seen a Pavilion pill like that sell for forty stones.”

Sima Lan picked it up and looked at it for a long breath. She didn't say it was good.

“Four months,” Sima Lan said.

“What?” Zhu Liu asked.

“Four months at late Foundation Establishment,” Sima Lan said, unable to hide her frustration. “I bought four Pavilion pills and paid sixty percent in fees each time. Their clerk blamed my meridians.”

“They're not resistant,” Shi Feng said.

“How would you know?” Sima Lan asked.

“Your hands are warm,” Shi Feng said. “A resistant body is cold at the fingertips. Your pills were the problem.”

She looked at him sharply. He had already gone back to scooping ash out of the cauldron.

Sima Lan put the pill in her mouth, swallowed and sat down on the mat behind the stall. She straightened her back. She closed her eyes.

Nobody moved.

The dust around her skirt lifted and settled. Her breathing slowed, then slowed again. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple and stopped at her jaw. Her fingers tightened on her knee until the knuckles turned white, then loosened one at a time.

Shi Feng didn't watch her face. He watched the dust, and he knew what he was seeing. A path that had been closed for four months was opening.

It lasted about as long as it takes to burn one stick of incense.

When Sima Lan opened her eyes, they were as cool as before. She rose, brushed off her skirt and took a small pouch from her sleeve. She counted out the exact amount of spirit stones, to the last chip, and set it on the stone.

“Your tenth was already taken in herbs,” Shi Feng said.

“The herbs were the fee,” Sima Lan said. “This is for the charcoal.”

“The fee doesn't include charcoal,” Shi Feng said.

“Then your sign is wrong,” Sima Lan said. “I don't owe anyone.”

She turned to go. Zhu Liu half stood up, holding out a slip of paper.

“Senior Sister Sima, your receipt,” Zhu Liu said.

She took the receipt, read it once and folded it into her sleeve. She did not say the pill had worked. She did not say thank you. She walked back toward the dormitories with her bowl under her arm, and the stragglers made room for her.

Zhu Liu sat down very slowly.

“She really came, Senior Brother,” Zhu Liu whispered. “She took the pill and paid us. Why couldn’t she just say whether she was pleased?”

“She paid on time,” Shi Feng said.

“Is that good?” Zhu Liu said.

“She trusted the pill enough to swallow it here,” Shi Feng said. “Don’t chase her down for praise. We’ve got the receipt.”

That night, he sat on the floor of his hut going over the day's receipts. Zhu Liu's brush strokes were small, but every figure was right.

Through the wall, he usually heard her pacing. She had walked the same eight steps every night since he moved in, up and back, up and back, as if she were counting something.

Tonight there was no pacing. There was only breathing, long and even, steady as a bellows.

It didn't stop until the lamp burned dry.