Chapter 253 — Cold Tea

CHAPTER 253

Cold Tea

“Seventy-five points,” Elder Qian Mo said through the Treasury window. “Three days on floor one. You may keep the change.”

“There's no change,” Shi Feng said.

“Then you may keep that,” Qian Mo said.

Zhu Liu wrote the figure in the receipt book and, after a moment's thought, wrote change: none beside it. The seventy-five stones had come out of the spar takings, after the junior's medicine, and the bone-setting fee. It was the first time all week Shi Feng had a free morning.

He intended to spend it standing in a circle.

The bamboo around the Sword Pagoda stirred in a cool wind. Keeper Ou was in his usual place by the door, but the cup of tea was no longer in his hands. It sat on a flat stone twelve paces away, steaming alone. Beside the stone stood a mop, a bucket and a folded cloth.

“You've moved the tea,” Shi Feng said.

“I've moved it for safety,” Keeper Ou said. “Yours, not mine.”

“I haven't done anything,” Shi Feng said.

“You haven’t needed to,” Keeper Ou said, holding the door open. “Floor one, third circle on the left. The tea can stay out here while you work.”

“Senior Brother Shi isn't repeating,” Zhu Liu whispered. “He's advancing.”

“Same thing,” Keeper Ou muttered. “Go in.”

The long hall of pale stone was fuller than last time. Eight disciples sat cross-legged near the entrance, and none of them were looking at their tablets. They were looking at the door.

“It's him.”

“The one who billed Martial Palace.”

“I heard he did three arts in a day.”

“Three days apart, one must look at a man with new eyes.”

“…”

Shi Feng walked past them and stepped into the circle of Hanging Rain Sword. The tablet flickered. The figure of light began its small cuts and quick turns.

Entry had been the form. Minor Success was the habit.

This time Shi Feng studied why the figure moved, not just where its hands went. The early wrist turn prepared the next defence. The lightly planted foot kept a retreat open. He repeated the small cuts until those choices came naturally, without a pause to think. The art’s creator had expected an opponent to strike back. Each turn avoided that answer while setting up his own. Shi Feng finally understood why the form had survived for so long.

The incense on the wall burned through its first notch.

The tablet flickered, softer than before, and went still.

Hanging Rain Sword, Minor Success.

Iron Gate Thrust took longer. Shi Feng drove the knife forward, withdrew, and thrust again. The form demanded a firm stance and an exact line. By the third incense notch, his point reached the same spot every time. The tablet’s figure seemed to nod.

Minor Success.

Stone Splitting Slash was last. It was heavy, ugly and unfinished, and that was why he liked it. The figure of light swung and got tired, and Shi Feng swung with it until his shoulder understood the weight, then added the Iron River Sword Art's rhythm underneath. The tablet's glow dimmed in a long, slow breath.

Minor Success.

He lowered the knife.

It was still morning. Nobody in the hall had spoken in a long time.

Shi Feng checked the incense. Three notches. He had bought three days.

“Two days left,” Zhu Liu whispered from the door. “Do you want me to cancel them, Senior Brother Shi?”

“No refunds,” Keeper Ou called from outside. His voice was steady. His cup, Shi Feng noticed, hadn't moved from its stone.

“Then I'll come back,” Shi Feng said.

“I'll move the tea farther,” Keeper Ou said.

Outside, Gongsun Ce was waiting under the bamboo.

He wore his core disciple's green token on a new cord, and the silver crane puppet sat on his shoulder, preening. Gongsun Ce had a way of waiting that made it look like he'd just arrived.

“Champion,” Gongsun Ce said. “Spar series finished?”

“Yes,” Shi Feng said.

“I saw the takings list. Three rings, a stack of medicine bills and a note on a Martial Palace disciple's chest.” Gongsun Ce's mouth twitched. “The whole outer court is repeating it.”

“It was a polite note,” Shi Feng said.

“It said thank you for the lesson,” Gongsun Ce said.

“That's polite,” Shi Feng said.

“Not from the ground,” Gongsun Ce said, waving the subject away. “Wait until the next Assessment, then the next two. A goose leaves its cry wherever it flies, and a man leaves his name. I’ll make people remember Gongsun Ce, Third Prince of Great Song—the puppet master of Artificer Hall. Not just the outer court. The whole region.”

“Everywhere,” Shi Feng said.

“A man needs a name,” Gongsun Ce said, touching the puppet on his shoulder. “I intend to have a large one.”

He walked off down the path, whistling, his cronies hurrying to catch up.

Zhu Liu came out of the doorway, holding a sheet of paper with a Sky Pavilion postal slip pinned to the corner.

“Senior Brother Shi, the last note still needs a signature,” Zhu Liu said, holding out the brush. “The sect copy for Martial Palace’s hall. Chief Disciple Lin says a polite sect signs its thanks, and the post leaves at noon.”

Shi Feng took the brush. The note was already written in Zhu Liu's neat hand. Thank you for your generous deposit and your instructive visit. We hope to host you again. A blank line waited at the bottom for a name.

He looked down the path where Gongsun Ce's grey robe was disappearing into the bamboo.

Then he dipped the brush and signed.

Zhu Liu read the line upside down. His face went the colour of old paper.

“Senior Brother Shi,” Zhu Liu said faintly. “That isn't your name.”

“He asked for it to be known,” Shi Feng said.