Chapter 328 — The Backer

CHAPTER 328

The Backer

The black cruiser docked at the north pier, and a gangplank dropped with a bang that made every gull on the Jinsha leave at once.

Twelve men in iron-banded gloves marched down in two rows. Bao Kun followed in a dark red robe embroidered with a clenched fist. The heavy man had a square grey beard and huge knuckles. He sniffed at the clean dock.

“Clean,” Bao Kun said. “Why is it so clean?”

“Elder Bao,” Tang Hai said, hurrying forward. After waiting an hour in his best boat, he bowed until his earring touched his knee. “Welcome. There's, ah, a new arrangement.”

“I see the arrangement,” Bao Kun said, examining the Black Water men. They were standing in neat lines, wearing grey plaques on their arms. One was holding a parasol over a merchant's wife. “Why are my boys holding a parasol?”

“It’s, ah, sunny,” Tang Hai replied, afraid to look away from the elder.

“I came for my river money, Tang Hai,” Bao Kun said. “It is the fifth day of the month. Where is the river money?”

Shi Feng walked down the dock and stopped three paces in front of him.

“Elder Bao,” Shi Feng said. “Shi Feng, of Artificer Hall. This is our ferry.”

Bao Kun looked down at him. He was mid Golden Core, and his qi pressure made the nearest boatmen retreat.

“So you're the boy,” Bao Kun said. “The one who drew the lightning. I've heard about you.” He folded his arms. “I've eaten more salt than you've eaten rice. Do you know how a river works, boy?”

“Water goes downhill,” Shi Feng said.

Somewhere behind him, Lin Langtian coughed.

“Money goes uphill,” Bao Kun said. He didn't smile. “For fifteen years, the Black Water men have taken their cut from the boats. Black Water keeps a fifth. Iron Fist Gate collects the rest. Iron Fist keeps a tenth for its trouble.” He raised one thick finger toward the north. “And the remaining nine tenths goes up the road to Martial Palace. Every river on this side of the mountains is the same. I'm just the postman, boy. A postman with very strong hands.”

“So Martial Palace has been paid by the Jinsha for fifteen years,” Shi Feng said.

“It’s called order,” Bao Kun said, as though that settled the matter.

“And nobody asked the ferry,” Shi Feng said. “You’ve been collecting from another sect’s people.”

“Why would a ferry have an opinion?” Bao Kun said.

The merchants fell silent. Silk Dealer Dou covered his mouth behind a crate. Pu Gen peered from the counting-house window, then ducked out of sight.

“Jinsha Ferry pays tribute to Artificer Hall,” Shi Feng said. “By old treaty. The ferry's money goes to the sect.”

“Treaty!” Bao Kun repeated, throwing back his head with a contemptuous laugh. “Artificer Hall hasn't paid its own coal bill in ten years! You can't even keep a roof on your gate! What treaty would a toad like you hold against Martial Palace?”

“Elder Bao,” Sima Lan said from behind the ledger, “you've just insulted a sect's gate in front of four hundred witnesses. Zhu Liu has written it down.”

“Written down,” Zhu Liu said faintly, holding up the book.

Bao Kun glanced at him and kept laughing. “Write what you like,” Bao Kun said. “A toad that wants to eat swan meat should stay in the mud, girl. Ten years ago, I would have crushed this dock under my foot.” He cracked his knuckles, and it sounded like a cart rolling over gravel. “Today I'll be fair. A palm exchange. You and I. At dusk on this dock.”

“State the stakes,” Shi Feng said. He wasn’t agreeing to a fight while leaving Bao Kun free to change the terms afterward.

“If I win, Black Water goes back to its trade and Iron Fist collects as before. Your sect sends a letter of apology to the Palace, with a thousand stones for the insult.” Bao Kun's eyes turned to Tang Hai, who shrank. “And I take this man's boats for the trouble.”

“And if I win?” Shi Feng asked.

“Then I’ll pay for the dock,” Bao Kun replied, laughing at the idea of losing. “A boy throwing an egg at a rock!”

“The dock,” Shi Feng said.

“The whole dock! Every plank!” Bao Kun declared, spreading his arms. “I'll even write a receipt, if your little clerk wants one.”

“Write it first,” Shi Feng said.

Zhu Liu offered a sheet. Bao Kun glared at Shi Feng, snatched the brush and scrawled his promise. Zhu Liu read it with trembling lips.

“'I, Bao Kun, will pay for the dock if I lose,'” Zhu Liu read.

“Sealed?” Shi Feng asked.

Bao Kun pressed his thumb to the paper in ink.

He turned his head then, and for the first time his eyes settled on the man leaning against a bollard with a half-eaten sweet potato.

“Chief Disciple Lin,” Bao Kun said, with a mocking nod. “You're early Nascent Soul, by the Palace's record. You won't spoil an honest palm exchange, will you?”

Lin Langtian looked at him as if he had just been offered a plate of cold porridge.

“Heavens, no,” Lin Langtian said. “A Nascent Soul bullying a Golden Core? Think of my reputation.”

“Wise,” Bao Kun said.

“I'll sit here and eat,” Lin Langtian said.

Bao Kun marched off to his cruiser, his twelve men in step behind him. The gangplank thumped. Over the water, someone began beating a drum.

Sima Lan closed her ledger.

“He is mid Golden Core,” Sima Lan said. “You are early. Your core is three parts in a hundred full.”

“I know,” Shi Feng said.

“He has twelve men who will interfere,” Sima Lan warned. “They didn’t come here just to watch.”

“I saw them,” Shi Feng replied.

“You're going to do something foolish,” Sima Lan said.

“I’ve already agreed to the exchange,” Shi Feng replied.

“Then come back in one piece,” Sima Lan said sharply. “Don’t make me collect you from the river while his disciples watch.”