Chapter 238 — Forty Spirit Stones

CHAPTER 238

Forty Spirit Stones

The bigger man arrived on the third morning, with a kick.

The stall's flat table flew a full arm's length. The furnace hit the pavement and rolled, spilling coals. Twelve bottles of Clear Marrow Pills bounced across the stones, and Zhu Liu threw himself on top of the ledger like a man covering a child.

“Trash!” Hou Ping shouted as the bottles rolled across the pavement.

Shi Feng didn't stand up. He had been sitting on the stool with a cup of tea in his hand, and he finished the sip he'd started. The cup hadn't spilled. That was the only thing on the street that hadn't moved.

The man who had kicked the table was about twenty, broad in the shoulder, with a polished Martial Palace badge on his chest and a sword at his hip. Behind him stood two followers, both Bone Refinement, both grinning. His chin was lifted so high that he looked at the sky more than at the stall.

“Cheap tricks from a cheap sect! You don't know the height of heaven or the depth of the earth!” Hou Ping said. “You dare sell unlicensed pills at our door? Look at my badge before you answer!”

“No,” Shi Feng said.

“I am Hou Ping, outer disciple of Martial Palace!” Hou Ping said, and stamped on one of the rolling bottles. It cracked. “And this street belongs to the Palace! You're finished here! Clear out your trash, or I'll...”

“Hou Ping,” Shi Feng said.

“What?” Hou Ping said.

“Forty spirit stones,” Shi Feng said.

Hou Ping stopped with his foot still raised. “What?”

“The table is twenty-two,” Shi Feng said calmly. “The furnace, twelve. The charcoal, four. The bottle you stepped on, two. Nine pills lost in the dust, at twenty-four each, makes two hundred and sixteen.” He paused. “I'm not charging for the pills. They were cheap anyway. Forty.”

Hou Ping's mouth opened. Nothing came out of it.

“You're charging a discount?” a man in the crowd whispered.

“Twenty-two for a table,” another man said in awe. “I paid twenty-five for mine.”

“He's kind!”

“He's insulting him!”

“...Both,” someone decided.

Hou Ping's face went red from the collar up. “You want me,” Hou Ping said slowly, “to pay a trash vendor?”

“Yes,” Shi Feng said.

“I'll kill you!” Hou Ping shouted. His hand dropped to the sword hilt, and steel slid out of the sheath by two inches.

Sima Lan had been standing very still behind the ledger. She didn't move now either. She only lifted her eyes to the corner of the street, where a pair of men in white robes had stopped walking.

“Warden,” Sima Lan said clearly. “A Martial Palace disciple is drawing a blade on a Sky Pavilion permit stall. Clause six.”

“Clause six?” Hou Ping snapped. “What clause?”

“Weapons drawn within ten paces of a permitted stall are a violation of Pavilion market law,” Sima Lan said. “The fine is a hundred stones. The second offence is a ban from every Pavilion tower in the Empire. It's printed on the permit. The permit is on the ground, where you kicked it. Please read it.”

Hou Ping looked at the permit. It lay on the ground by the table leg, with two stamps staring up at him.

The white-robed wardens approached with their hands on their belts. The crowd hurried out of the way, leaving Hou Ping exposed in the middle of the street. He glanced at their robes and stopped pulling his sword.

“Is there a problem here?” the older warden asked.

Hou Ping shoved the sword back. It clanked. “No problem!”

“He kicked the table,” Zhu Liu said from the ground, with the ledger in both arms. His voice cracked. “And broke a bottle. And called us trash. I wrote it all down.”

“Damages?” the older warden asked.

“Forty stones,” Shi Feng said.

The older warden turned to Hou Ping. “Pay,” the older warden said.

“I'm from Martial Palace!” Hou Ping said, in a different voice, somewhat higher.

“Then pay on behalf of Martial Palace,” the older warden said. “Or we can go to the tower and discuss it with your branch master.”

Fifty people watched Hou Ping while his followers studied the ground. He shook with anger. Martial Palace’s badge hadn’t frightened the wardens, and now everyone was waiting to see him pay.

He snatched a purse off his belt and threw it. It struck the pavement and burst. Spirit stones rolled out across the street, glinting.

“Thirty-eight!” Hou Ping hissed. “Count it!”

Sima Lan counted them without bending, with a flick of her eyes. “Thirty-eight. Two short.”

“That's all I have!” Hou Ping shouted.

“Interest,” Sima Lan said. “Two stones for the delay. Forty-two, with the extra two. Also, the purse is damaged. One more.”

“What?” Hou Ping said.

“Forty-three,” Sima Lan said.

Hou Ping stared at her. Then he stared at Shi Feng, who was now picking up his tea again.

“Remember my name,” Hou Ping said, in a trembling voice. “Hou Ping! A gentleman's revenge is not too late even after ten years! I'll be back, and when I am, you'll beg! All of you! You and your sect, and that woman, and that stool!”

He turned and ran. His two followers ran after him, one of them dropping his hat.

Sima Lan wrote Hou Ping: five stones outstanding in the ledger and underlined it twice.

Nobody spoke for a heartbeat. Then the crowd burst out laughing.

“Forty spirit stones!”

“He paid! The Palace paid!”

“Two stones short, and she charged interest!”

“Which sect is this?”

“Artificer Hall! I'm buying a bottle just for that!”

Lin Langtian, who had been sitting on a barrel at the end of the street with a sweet potato, finally put it down. He came over slowly, picked up one of the stones, and held it to the light with enormous respect.

“Junior Brother, did you hear her add interest?” Lin Langtian said admiringly. “I came over to help and found you two had already finished. I’m almost disappointed.”

“I was already billing him,” Shi Feng said.

“Natural talent,” Lin Langtian said, and pocketed the stone. Sima Lan took it back out of his sleeve without looking.