Chapter 255 — You Signed My Name

CHAPTER 255

You Signed My Name

The border market on the third day after the spar series was louder than usual, and Shi Feng knew why before he reached the gate.

The crowd had come for the cooling wax stall.

Not for the wax. For the grey-robed young man standing at it, who was trying to buy two blocks without being recognised and failing badly. The silver crane on his shoulder preened for all of them.

“That's Gongsun Ce.”

“The prince? He's shorter than I heard.”

“Didn't he sign something?”

“A thank-you note! To Martial Palace!”

Gongsun Ce set down his coins. He had the pinched look of someone who has heard his own name six times and doesn't know why.

Shi Feng was forty paces away, giving the junior with the mended arm his second check. Zhu Liu waited beside him with the receipts. Sima Lan stood farther back with her ledger and chalk, watching the growing crowd around the wax stall.

“Does it hurt?” Shi Feng asked.

“No, Senior Brother,” Ge Shun said. “Not even when it rains. I thought it would ache for much longer.”

“Good. Don't lift anything for ten days,” Shi Feng said.

The noise on the market road changed.

The market quieted as Martial Palace disciples marched down the road two abreast. People hurried out of their path. Shi Feng looked up from Ge Shun’s arm and put away his medicine bag.

At the head of the column walked Yuan Kuang.

His saber was strapped across his back in the Martial Palace fashion, ready to be drawn over the shoulder. Behind him, a retainer carried a lacquered case.

They stopped in front of the wax stall.

“Gongsun Ce,” Yuan Kuang said. His voice carried the length of the road. “Third Prince of Great Song. Core disciple of Artificer Hall.”

Gongsun Ce turned slowly, a block of wax in each hand.

“This is Gongsun Ce,” Gongsun Ce said. “Who is asking?”

“Yuan Kuang, inner disciple of Martial Palace. I carry a formal protest from the Hall of Ten Thousand Strikes.” The retainer opened the case. Yuan Kuang took out a scroll and unrolled it with a snap. “Concerning the unlawful retention of three disciples' property, taken under the guise of a friendly spar.” He held up a second sheet. “This is your hand, is it not? Gongsun Ce, Artificer Hall.”

“I haven't signed anything,” Gongsun Ce said.

The prince took one step forward and read it. All the colour left his face, and then, a moment later, it came back.

He turned his head, slowly, toward the medical table.

Shi Feng sipped his tea.

“Under your own sect's posted rules,” Yuan Kuang continued, “a friendly spar is permitted at this market. As you have chosen to answer a Martial Palace disciple in writing, this disciple answers in kind. I challenge you, Gongsun Ce, to a friendly spar, with the usual deposit.”

The crowd drew a breath.

“A challenge!”

“Against the prince!”

“Rule three! They'll stake rings!”

“The prince doesn't fight!”

“…”

Gongsun Ce carefully put one wax block on a crate and the other in his sleeve. He straightened his robe. The silver crane left his shoulder and landed beside the block while he faced the challenger.

“I accept,” Gongsun Ce said. “I did not sign that note.”

“Then who did?” Yuan Kuang asked.

Gongsun Ce did not look toward the medical table. He looked very deliberately somewhere else.

“I'll be taking it up with him later,” Gongsun Ce said.

The ring was an old circle of packed earth beside the grain stalls. Yuan Kuang entered it first, drew his saber over his shoulder in one smooth motion and let it rest on the ground. The edge glowed a dull red. Martial Palace's Searing Edge, heated by qi until it could cut through a bronze plate.

Gongsun Ce entered with three puppets walking ahead of him.

Two were wooden, with iron joints. The third was the one with the repaired elbow. Thin threads of qi ran from his fingers to their backs.

“Dolls,” Yuan Kuang said, and laughed. “You brought dolls. A mantis trying to stop a cart!”

“Begin,” Gongsun Ce said.

Yuan Kuang crossed the ring in three steps. The red edge swept through the first puppet at the waist.

It did not cut. The saber bit into the wood, hissed, and stopped. Where the iron joint met the wooden torso, a pale seam of wax had gone soft and was already hardening again. The heat bled straight into it.

“Cooling wax,” Shi Feng murmured.

“Seals the joints,” Sima Lan said, without looking up. “He buys two blocks every market day.”

The second puppet struck Yuan Kuang's wrist. The third hooked his ankle. The first, half-cut, locked both arms around his saber and leaned. Yuan Kuang roared, twisted free and slammed the pommel into the nearest wooden head. It split. It also gave Gongsun Ce enough time to flick a finger.

The silver crane screamed, dove, and slammed a talon into Yuan Kuang's wrist.

The saber dropped.

The ring was silent. Yuan Kuang stood with his empty hand raised and a puppet's iron fingers resting lightly on his throat.

“Deposit,” Gongsun Ce said, a little breathlessly.

Yuan Kuang's retainer came forward with a storage ring on a cushion.

The cheering rolled over the market like a wave.

“Gongsun Ce! Gongsun Ce!”

“The puppet prince!”

“Three puppets! He didn't even sweat!”

“A prince who fights!”

“A dragon among men!”

“I'll remember that name!”

Gongsun Ce stood panting amid the cheers. He’d won the ring and heard strangers shouting his name, exactly as he’d wanted. The satisfaction only made him angrier about how the challenge had started. He marched toward Shi Feng.

He stopped in front of Shi Feng.

“You signed my name,” Gongsun Ce said.

“You said you wanted it known,” Shi Feng said.