Chapter 228 — Attendant

CHAPTER 228

Attendant

By the time Shi Feng reached the outer-court gate, the queue had doubled.

Sima Lan had swept the table, moved the stool, and chalked three prices on a new board. Zhu Liu stood behind her carrying the stool under clause three. He looked relieved to have something simple to hold instead of another column to add.

“You're late,” Sima Lan said.

“The sun's barely up,” Shi Feng said.

“Eleven customers are waiting in the sun,” Sima Lan said. “Cauldron on the left. Ingredients on the right. Next.”

Shi Feng sat down. The first customer in line, a thin disciple with a bandaged wrist, stepped forward and was relieved of his ingredient basket before he finished bowing. Sima Lan weighed it, wrote a figure on a slip, and pushed the slip at him.

“Three sets in, one pill out, ten percent,” Sima Lan said. “Sign here.”

The disciple hurried to sign, addressing her as Senior Sister Sima. His bandaged hand made the brush wobble, but he was too pleased to have the ingredients accepted to ask any questions.

“I'm an attendant, not a senior sister,” Sima Lan said. “Sign.”

A familiar voice rolled down the slope like a cart with no brakes.

“EVERYONE!” Lin Langtian bellowed from the slope.

Heads turned. The queue went quiet. Lin Langtian came striding through the gate in his chief disciple's robe, one hand raised, a potato in the other.

“Everyone! Listen! A great event has occurred at Artificer Hall's pill stall!” Lin Langtian announced. “My Junior Brother, the tournament champion, has hired a maid! A real one! A princess maid!”

The outer court froze.

“A princess?”

“The Great Liang princess?”

“The one who took tenth?”

“She's pouring his tea? A fallen phoenix is worse off than a chicken!”

“…”

Shi Feng kept his eyes on the cauldron. Zhu Liu made a small noise and held the stool tighter.

Sima Lan didn't look up. She finished the line she was writing, blotted it, and set down her brush.

“Attendant,” Sima Lan said.

“Maid!” Lin Langtian said, beaming.

“Attendant,” Sima Lan said. “Ten stones.”

Lin Langtian stopped. He looked at the potato in his hand, then at the board with the prices on it, and then he laughed and dug into his sleeve. He counted ten spirit stones into her palm one at a time, with great ceremony.

“Worth every coin,” Lin Langtian said. “Little maid, you're a treasure.”

“Attendant,” Sima Lan said, and put the stones in her sleeve. “Eleven.”

“Eleven?” Lin Langtian said.

“You said 'maid' again,” Sima Lan said. “Then 'little'. Next.”

Laughter broke out along the queue. A girl in a green sash doubled over. One disciple who’d mocked the stall stepped out of line, took another look at the cauldron, and reluctantly returned. He wanted his pill more than he feared her fees.

“She charged the chief disciple! She touched the tiger's backside!”

“And he paid!”

“Is that even allowed?”

“She's got a contract, you fool. Listen to her.”

Shi Feng thought, That's the first fee collected from Lin Langtian in the history of this mountain. Zhu Liu should write it down.

He glanced at Zhu Liu. Zhu Liu was already writing, with a trembling brush and a face the colour of tofu.

Sima Lan worked through the morning without wasting a movement. She sent a man with a stomach complaint to the infirmary and corrected a junior’s sum before he signed. Twice she caught Shi Feng’s measurements before the herbs entered the flame. He accepted the corrections and kept brewing.

By noon the queue was gone and the cauldron had cooled. Sima Lan sat down on the stool and drew a long ledger toward her. Her brush moved down the page without once stopping.

“Income, ninety-two spirit stones from the stall, plus twenty-one from Lin Langtian,” Sima Lan said. “Outgoings: herbs, charcoal, water, chalk. Net...”

She stopped. She went back to the top of the column and added it again.

“What?” Shi Feng asked.

“It balances,” Sima Lan said. “Down to the copper.”

“Is that unusual?” Shi Feng said.

“For this stall,” Sima Lan said, “it's a miracle.”

She said it flatly. All the same, one corner of her mouth moved before she pressed it level. Zhu Liu bowed his head over the receipt book and tried not to be noticed.

That evening Shi Feng sat at his table with a purse and the contract. The wage was forty stones, due on the first of each month, but she had asked to be paid for the first day. She'd said that a contract that wasn't honoured on day one was only a poem.

He counted forty into the purse.

Then he added four more.

He looked at the extra four stones for a while. He didn't write them in any ledger. He tied the purse shut, carried it across the corridor, and knocked three times.

Sima Lan opened the door. A single lamp burned behind her. She wore the same plain outer-court robe as in the morning, and her hair was still tied up.

“Your first wage,” Shi Feng said. “For the first day.”

“Thank you,” Sima Lan said.

She took the purse, weighed it in her palm and untied the string. Then she counted the stones onto her desk, one at a time, with her thumb.

Forty-four.

She counted them again.

Shi Feng looked away while she counted. He hadn’t written the extra four stones anywhere, and he didn’t intend to explain them. Instead, he studied the chalk on the wall until she spoke.

Sima Lan looked at the coins. She looked at him. Her face didn't change. She swept the stones into the purse and tied it shut.

“Receipt,” Sima Lan said.

“I'll make one,” Shi Feng said.

“Tomorrow, then,” Sima Lan said. “Good night, Shi Feng.”

The door closed. For once, nothing was added to the tally wall.