Chapter 295 — Observers

CHAPTER 295

Observers

Wei Chengyuan read the report standing up.

It had come from Duanyang City by fast bird, and it was short. The Artificer Hall champion has entered a sealed chamber on Thunder Cliff. Gate talk says he will form his Golden Core. Outer court is betting on whether he dies.

“Betting,” Wei Chengyuan said.

“Nine to one against him, Elder,” said Elder Shen Tuo. He stood before the writing desk with his hands folded. He was a heavy man in grey, at early Golden Core, with a face that had long ago learned to say nothing. “They have a pool of over two thousand stones.”

“A beggar’s sect staking its coal money on a cripple,” Wei Chengyuan said, laying down the report. “They’re making an audience for us without being asked.”

Behind the desk, a clerk waited with a brush and a sheet of the Palace's good paper. The letter on it was already half written. It had a lovely hand, wide and warm, and it began with the words With great joy.

“Read me the rest,” Wei Chengyuan said.

The clerk cleared his throat. “'With great joy, Martial Palace learns that Artificer Hall's champion is about to advance. As neighbours, we are naturally concerned for the safety of the surrounding villages should the heavens respond unkindly. We therefore offer a small party of elders to observe from a distance, to lend what aid we may, and to offer guidance should the sect find itself short of experience.'”

“Good,” Wei Chengyuan said. “Warm. Send it under the Palace seal.”

“Elder,” Shen Tuo said, “a knife hidden in a smile. They will understand it.”

“Li Changyuan will understand perfectly,” Wei Chengyuan said, sitting down. “But this is a congratulation. Refuse it, and he insults his neighbours. Accept it, and our observers have a place. We’ll hear the lightning either way.”

“And the observers?” Shen Tuo said.

“You, and three others. All Golden Core.” Wei Chengyuan folded his hands. “Not on his land, Shen Tuo. Take the peak to the west. Windcut Peak is public ground, ten li from the cliff. You will see everything and touch nothing.”

“And if he lives?” Shen Tuo said.

“Then the region hears an honest account from elders who watched,” Wei Chengyuan said. “Know yourself and know your enemy, and a hundred battles bring no danger. I want to know what his cultivation really is. The gate keeps calling him Foundation Establishment. That doesn’t explain how he took the champion’s throne.”

“And if he dies?” Shen Tuo said.

“Then Artificer Hall has spent its only champion on a roof it can't mend.” Wei Chengyuan's voice was perfectly pleasant. “A fallen tree always has many visitors, Elder Shen. Go and be one.”

Shen Tuo bowed and left. The clerk sealed the letter, and the Palace seal went onto it like a closed fist.

On the fourth day of the month, a boy from Duanyang City brought a returned pill jar to the Artificer Hall stall.

“Customer says it's defective,” the boy said, and ran off before Zhu Liu could open his receipt book.

The jar was not defective. Inside, wrapped around the cork, was a scrap of grey paper with two words in a cramped hand, and under them two small letters: D.Y.

Observers coming.

Zhu Liu turned it over. There was no date, no name, and no more words. He read it nine times, wrote Warning, two words, received in his book, and ran.

He ran to Thunder Cliff, which took him a quarter of an hour. At the iron door he stopped, panting, and put his ear to the cold metal.

“Senior Brother Shi?” Zhu Liu whispered. “Senior Brother Shi, it's me. There's a letter.”

The door gave no answer. Blue runes still glowed along its damp stone frame. Zhu Liu pressed his ear closer, then drew back. Whatever was happening inside, he couldn’t reach his senior brother.

Zhu Liu wrote Not delivered, the recipient is busy and drew a very sad face next to it.

“What are you doing?” Sima Lan asked.

She stood at the foot of the path with the ledger under one arm. She had a way of appearing behind people that nobody had ever managed to explain.

“Senior Attendant Sima!” Zhu Liu squeaked. “A message. Signed D.Y. It says…”

Sima Lan took the paper. She read it once and her face did not change.

“Duan Yichen,” Sima Lan said. She turned the scrap over. “It's four days old. They arrived yesterday.”

She turned and looked west. Zhu Liu looked too.

Ten li away, a bare grey peak stood against the evening. On its highest ledge, four small figures sat in a row, very still, like crows waiting for a fence to fall.

Sima Lan approached the iron door and stopped. She gripped her ledger, worried despite her straight back. The observers were already in position, and Shi Feng didn’t even know they’d come.

“Don't die,” Sima Lan said to the door. “I've put ninety stones on you.”

“Senior Attendant Sima,” Zhu Liu said. “That sounded like…”

“It was a figure of speech,” Sima Lan said. “Write a receipt.”

“For what?” Zhu Liu said.

“For the figure,” Sima Lan said.

Zhu Liu wrote it down.