Chapter 251 — In His Own Hand

CHAPTER 251

In His Own Hand

Six eggs sat on Shi Feng's table in a cloth bundle.

Ge Shun's father had brought them at dusk. He was a heavy smith with burn scars up both arms, and he'd stood in the doorway for a full minute without finding anything to say. In the end he'd put the bundle down, bowed so low his hair brushed the floor, and left.

Shi Feng looked at the eggs for a while. Then he took out a clean sheet of paper and the good brush.

Nobody had told him to.

Lin Langtian was elsewhere, probably eating. Sima Lan was in her hut across the corridor, doing the day's books. Zhu Liu had gone to the Treasury with three rings in a sack and a look of terror. There was only the lamp, and a page, and the number thirty-four.

Shi Feng thought, Ge Shun lost thirty days of work. His father lost the eggs, the walk and half a day at the forge. Shen Kui lost nothing. Not yet.

He began to write.

To the Martial Palace, care of Warden Gui, Three-Road Border Market.

Account of damages arising from a friendly spar.

He wrote plain, square characters. Sima Lan’s books had shown him how to lay out the charges. Lin Langtian had taught him what to include. This time Shi Feng decided the items himself, checking that each one could be defended.

1. Medicine and setting, Ge Shun, left forearm (two boards, one belt, one pill): 34 stones.

2. Setting, Shen Kui, right elbow: 5 stones.

He checked the second line twice. Shen Kui hadn't asked for it. But the arm had needed setting, and the man had only howled instead of refusing. Shi Feng counted silence as consent, and left the line as it was.

3. Time lost to guidance, three sessions at twenty stones each: 60 stones.

He looked at that one for a long time. Then he nodded. The Palace disciples had received three lessons in manners, free of charge, with a demonstration. Lessons were worth money. This was only accurate.

The door opened.

“Junior Brother, you haven't been to supper,” Lin Langtian said, “and I come bearing…”

He stopped.

He had seen the lamp, the brush, and the page. He crossed the room without a sound, which was very unusual for him, and read over Shi Feng's shoulder.

“Who dictated this?” Lin Langtian asked quietly.

“No one,” Shi Feng said.

“Sima Lan?” Lin Langtian said.

“She's doing the books,” Shi Feng said.

“Did I say it?” Lin Langtian said.

“I don't think so,” Shi Feng said.

Lin Langtian read to the bottom of the page. His lips moved at each figure. He reached item three, and he made a small noise like a kettle starting to sing.

“Time lost to guidance,” Lin Langtian said.

“It's accurate,” Shi Feng said.

“You wrote it yourself,” Lin Langtian said, his voice cracking. “Seven years I spent teaching Elder Qian Mo to charge for ‘time lost to guidance.’ Seven! I had to repeat it every day.” He pressed his sleeve to his eyes.

“It's the third item,” Shi Feng said.

“It's the third item,” Lin Langtian repeated, and burst into tears.

They were real tears. They ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the potato in his hand. Shi Feng put the brush down and looked at him with deep unease.

“Are you ill?” Shi Feng said.

“I’m proud!” Lin Langtian sobbed. “The blue comes from the indigo and surpasses it, as the saying goes! I didn’t dictate a word. You sat down and wrote the whole invoice yourself! Can’t a senior brother be moved by that?”

“I'm older than I look,” Shi Feng said.

“You aren't,” Lin Langtian said, and blew his nose.

The door opened again. This time it was Sima Lan, in her working robe with the ledger under her arm. She took in the weeping chief disciple, the paper, the eggs, and Shi Feng's deadpan face, and drew the only conclusion she could.

“I'll charge him for the ink,” Sima Lan said.

“It's my ink,” Shi Feng said.

“Then I'll charge it to you, for allowing it,” Sima Lan said. She crossed to the table, took the sheet by its corner, and ran her eye down the figures. Her brush came out of her sleeve and made two small marks.

“Your list is incomplete,” Sima Lan said. “You've left out the dust.”

“What dust?” Shi Feng said.

“You threw it. It was market dust, belonging to the Border Market. Handling fee, one stone,” Sima Lan said.

“I don't think that's…” Shi Feng said.

“And the late fee,” Sima Lan said. “Ten percent after seven days. You haven't written one.”

Shi Feng looked at Sima Lan, doubtful about the dust charge. She waited with her brush ready. She’d already supplied its wording and checked the total. After a moment, he reached for his own brush again.

He picked up the brush again.

4. Handling of border market dust: 1 stone.

5. Late charge, 10 percent after seven days, payable on the eighth.

“Total, one hundred stones,” Sima Lan said, “before the late charge. Sign.”

Shi Feng signed. His name stood at the bottom in his own handwriting, plain and small. It looked like the signature of a man who had been doing this for years.

“Deposits stay with us until it's paid?” Shi Feng asked.

“That's rule three,” Sima Lan said.

“And rule four,” Lin Langtian sniffled, “says it's legal.”

“Someone has to deliver it,” Shi Feng said.

Three heads turned at once, because there was only one person in the corridor. Zhu Liu had just come back from the Treasury, still holding the empty sack. He stopped in the doorway and looked at the paper, then at the three faces.

“Why,” Zhu Liu said, “is everyone looking at me?”