Chapter 291 — Hold Still

CHAPTER 291

Hold Still

On the second night of the ache, somebody knocked three times and walked in without waiting.

Shi Feng lay on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest. It was the only position in which his stomach rang quietly instead of loudly. He turned his head and saw Sima Lan in the doorway, carrying a copper basin in both hands. A towel was folded over her arm, and a steaming kettle hung from two fingers.

“Attendant,” Shi Feng said. “Good evening.”

“It's not good,” Sima Lan said. “It's a disaster. Sit up.”

“I can't,” Shi Feng said.

“Then stay lying down. Give me your foot,” Sima Lan said.

Shi Feng stared at her.

“Which one?” Sima Lan asked.

“Why?” Shi Feng said.

“I asked the infirmary elder,” Sima Lan said, setting down the basin. “Thunder-Marrow lightning can gather in the feet when it can’t leave through the belly.” She tested the water. “You’ve been limping for two days. Don’t pretend I couldn’t see it.”

“It's a small ache,” Shi Feng said.

“It's a large limp.” Sima Lan sat on the low stool by the bed and pulled his left foot out from under the blanket. She frowned at it. “Your feet are a disgrace.”

“They've been climbing the Sword Pagoda,” Shi Feng said.

“They've been climbing the Sword Pagoda in worn-out boots, for three months, without a single day of care,” Sima Lan said. “Look at this heel. A blacksmith's anvil has more feeling. An ache in your stomach is no excuse for these feet. Hold still.”

She lowered his foot into the water.

Shi Feng expected a charge and a quick instruction. Instead, Sima Lan worked carefully, pressing beneath his foot with sure thumbs. He thought, She asked the infirmary elder before coming. She’d prepared for this, and he hadn’t even told her about the limp.

He nearly flinched.

“There,” Sima Lan said. “Feel that?”

“Yes,” Shi Feng said.

“That's the lightning. It's stuck,” Sima Lan said. She pressed again, and a thin blue spark ran across the water and disappeared. “Breathe out.”

He breathed out. Warmth began to creep up his shin. The ringing in his stomach dimmed by a fraction, as if someone had put a cloth on the bell.

“You don't have to do this,” Shi Feng said.

“I know,” Sima Lan said.

“It isn't in the contract,” Shi Feng said.

“Clause fourteen,” Sima Lan said, not looking up. “'And other duties, as the Attendant judges necessary to the principal's fitness.' I wrote it myself. I judge it necessary.”

“Is there a fee?” Shi Feng said.

“Of course there's a fee. Three stones, charged to your account.” Sima Lan rubbed her thumb slowly along his heel. “Don't talk. You'll lose count.”

“Of what?” Shi Feng said.

“You’ll find something to argue about,” Sima Lan said. “Stay quiet for once and let me finish.”

He stopped talking. The lamp burned low. Sima Lan's ponytail had slipped over one shoulder, and she did not fix it. It was strangely quiet, apart from the water, the faint crackle of sparks, and the small, regular sound of her breathing.

Shi Feng realised that for the first time in two days, he wasn't thinking about his stomach.

A rustle came from the window.

Sima Lan stopped, without looking up. “Don't move.”

“I wasn't going to,” Shi Feng said.

“I wasn't talking to you,” Sima Lan said.

There was a pause. Then a whisper, carried on the night air, and not nearly low enough.

“She's washing his feet!”

“The princess! He who lives nearest the water sees the moon first!”

“Be quiet! I can't hear!”

“Senior Brother Wu, you're standing on my hand!”

“…”

Shi Feng turned his head. The paper window, in the lamplight, held a row of round shadows. There were at least eleven heads. In the middle of them, an unmistakable shape held up a sweet potato like a lantern.

“Junior Brother!” Lin Langtian boomed, from the other side of the paper. “Don't let us disturb you! Continue!”

“Senior Brother Lin,” Shi Feng said.

“What is it, Junior Brother?” Lin Langtian called, sounding much too pleased with himself.

“Go away,” Shi Feng said.

“Impossible!” Lin Langtian declared. “Those fated to meet will meet across a thousand li! This is history! The first foot-washing in the Hall since the founding! Zhu Liu, are you writing it down?”

“Yes, Senior Brother Lin!” Zhu Liu's thin voice said. “I'm writing 'foot massage, first'!”

“And the price?” Lin Langtian said.

“Three stones, charged to the contract!” Zhu Liu said.

“Cheap!” Lin Langtian said. “Wu Qiang, you owe me five for that bet!”

Sima Lan raised her head. She was embarrassed, but the whispering had made her angry enough to forget it. She dried her hands, stood, and threw the window open before anyone outside could retreat.

Eleven faces looked back at her in the lamplight. Nobody said a word.

“Attendant,” Sima Lan said, in a voice like frost on a blade, “has a fee schedule for spectators.”

“Is that so?” Lin Langtian said weakly.

“One stone per head, for the window. Two for the commentary,” Sima Lan said.

“That's thirty-three stones!” Lin Langtian said.

“Thirty-four. You're holding a potato in my line of sight,” Sima Lan said.

The yard emptied in about two heartbeats. Only Lin Langtian stood his ground, counting spirit stones into her outstretched hand with his lips pressed together, and then he too ran off into the dark, laughing.

Sima Lan closed the window. She returned to the stool without looking at him and took his foot out of the water again.

Then something happened that neither of them had planned.

The last of the Thunder-Marrow lightning in his heel found the copper basin. A fat blue spark leapt out of his toes, ran up the edge of the water and burst against her wrist. Every hair on her head rose a finger's width.

Sima Lan looked at her wrist. She looked at her hair, floating around her head.

“Don't,” Sima Lan said.

“I didn't say anything,” Shi Feng said.

“Good,” Sima Lan said, quite white. “Eleven stones for the sparks.”