Chapter 285 — One Shelf

CHAPTER 285

One Shelf

“It's not Thunder-Calming herbs,” Elder Qian Mo said.

Qian Mo hugged the rescued abacus to his chest. He answered too quickly, and his voice was thin. Shi Feng waited. The treasurer clearly knew what the jars contained, however determined he was not to admit it.

“It sparks,” Shi Feng said.

“Damp,” Qian Mo said.

“It smells of rain,” Shi Feng said.

“Rain gets in,” Elder Qian Mo said.

“Elder, we can see the spark,” Sima Lan said. “Please stop calling it damp. You’re only making us more suspicious.”

Elder Qian Mo opened his mouth, closed it, and the abacus slid out of his hands again. This time Zhu Liu caught it and handed it back with both palms, bowing as he did.

“Fine,” Elder Qian Mo said at last. “Fine! They're Thunder-Calming herbs. Nine jars. Sixty years old, from the time of the old sect master, who said they were to be kept for the day a disciple needed them. No disciple did. I've dusted that shelf every year with my own hands.”

“Then why call it junk?” Shi Feng asked.

“Because of the collectors!” Elder Qian Mo said. His whole face twisted. “Fan Coal House sent a man to count our assets last winter. And the year before, a Martial Palace inspector came 'to help with our records'. They write down what is valuable. Then it is no longer ours.”

“So you wrote down that it wasn't valuable,” Sima Lan said slowly.

“Shelf fourteen. Miscellaneous.” Elder Qian Mo hugged the abacus. “It's darkest beneath the lamp. Nobody ever asks about miscellaneous.”

Shi Feng understood. Qian Mo had hidden valuable herbs in a worthless entry so collectors wouldn’t claim them. He’d guarded them through forty years of debts without using them to balance the books. His stinginess had served the sect.

That changed nothing about the shelf. But it changed how Shi Feng meant to ask for it.

“Elder, I need those jars,” Shi Feng said. “For the tribulation. Without them the core won't hold.”

“I know,” Elder Qian Mo said miserably. “The sect master knows too, or he wouldn't have sent you. I'd rather it were the lion.”

“The slip says one item,” Shi Feng said.

“Yes! One!” Qian Mo said.

“It doesn't say how large an item is.” Shi Feng turned to the shelf. “First. The Treasury doesn't count in jars. Zhu Liu?”

Zhu Liu had retreated to the doorway the moment the word “collectors” was spoken. He cleared his throat and held up his receipt book like a shield.

“Page four of the Treasury ledger,” Zhu Liu said. “I read it through the window last autumn and copied it. Nobody told me not to.”

“You copied my ledger?” Elder Qian Mo said.

“I copy everything, Elder,” Zhu Liu said apologetically. “It says, 'Shelf fourteen. Miscellaneous. One entry. Value, three coppers.'”

“Second,” Shi Feng said. “The Treasury's own record calls the shelf one item. Third. By the same record, the item is worth three coppers. If the sect master gave me one item, the Treasury can't say it's too expensive. It wrote the price itself.”

Elder Qian Mo stared at him.

“That is,” Elder Qian Mo said, “that is, that is the most...”

“Reasonable,” Sima Lan said, writing. “I agree. For the record.”

“You work for him!” Qian Mo said.

“I’m his attendant,” Sima Lan said. “I checked your entry, not his wishes. You wrote one item worth three coppers. He’s asking you to honour it.”

“Seconded!” Lin Langtian boomed.

It came from the ceiling. A tile slid aside, and a round, cheerful face looked down through the hole, holding a half-eaten sweet potato.

“Seconded loudly!” Lin Langtian called. “Witnessed by the chief disciple of Artificer Hall and by the neighbouring sparrows! Three coppers is three coppers, Elder! A gentleman loves wealth, but takes it by the proper way!”

“That's my roof!” Elder Qian Mo cried.

“It's also a very good shelf,” Lin Langtian said. “I looked from above. Solid wood. Strong joints. Hardly any worm. Take the shelf too, Junior Brother. The sect master said an item. The shelf is the item. The jars just happen to be sitting in it.”

Shi Feng looked at the shelf again. He doubted that argument would persuade anyone who wasn’t already bound by the ledger. But the shelf was the listed item, and the jars were sitting on it.

“Excuse me, Elder,” Shi Feng said politely.

He took hold of the shelf's frame with both hands. It was heavier than it looked, but his body could lift a few hundred catties without trying. The dust fell away in grey sheets. Nine jars clinked together and a thin blue spark ran up the old wood.

The shelf disappeared into the ring, jars and all.

All that remained was a clean rectangle on the stone floor with a thick border of dust around it.

For a long moment nobody spoke.

“I'm going to fetch the sect master,” Elder Qian Mo said in a very small voice. “I'm going to fetch the sect master. I'm going now.”

He set the lantern down without noticing and walked out of the Treasury with his abacus held against his chest, past Zhu Liu, into the light.

“Elder!” Zhu Liu called after him. “You forgot your lantern!”

“Keep it!” Elder Qian Mo wailed. “It'll cost you!”

Sima Lan blew the lantern out at once. In the sudden dark, Shi Feng heard her write one more line.

Then, far down the lane, came a sound he knew well. A broom was sweeping toward them. It was moving much faster than a night sweeper's broom usually did.