Chapter 331 — The Real Boss

CHAPTER 331

The Real Boss

The first tribute arrived at the ferry warehouse on the back of eleven Black Water men, and every one of them bowed to the wrong person.

The lead man put a heavy chest before Sima Lan and reported three hundred and ten stones, counted twice. Nobody had complained about short weight or the escort service. Two customers had asked for more plaques.

“Thank you,” Sima Lan said, opening the chest.

“I'm over here,” Shi Feng said.

He sat by the door, his left foot on a crate. He’d spent a day walking the docks in the boatman’s splint, checking the timetable, counting barges and eating a bun without mentioning the ankle.

The man looked from Shi Feng to Sima Lan.

The man bowed politely to Shi Feng and explained that they’d been told to bring the money to whoever signed for it.

“Who told you?” Shi Feng asked, looking from the chest to the messenger.

The messenger repeated Tang Hai’s instructions: the man fights, the woman decides.

“…” Shi Feng looked at Sima Lan, who was already checking the tribute.

“He’s right,” Sima Lan said, writing. “Tell Tang Hai his boats are on time, his men are clean, and the bonus for safe crossings is raised by half a stone. Go.”

The eleven men bowed again and left. Outside, Black Water boats escorted the afternoon barges. Boatmen sang a new song about a postman with a strong hand. It didn’t end happily.

“Iron Fist Gate left at dawn,” Zhu Liu reported, coming through the door with his book. “Elder Bao sat on the deck holding his arm. The crew wouldn't look at him. His disciples refused to row.”

“Poor Bao Kun,” Lin Langtian said happily, from the rafters. “A fall into the pit, a gain in your wit.”

Everyone looked up. He was lying along a beam with a sweet potato, watching them with obvious enjoyment.

“Senior Brother Lin,” Shi Feng said. “Why are you up in the roof?”

“I'm inspecting the lighting,” Lin Langtian said. “It's poor. You should pay for a better lamp.”

“Come down,” Sima Lan said.

“I like it here,” Lin Langtian replied, making himself more comfortable on the beam.

“Come down, or I’ll charge you rent for the beam,” Sima Lan said, refusing to humour him.

Lin Langtian came down quickly, with unusual dignity. He reached the floor, brushed a cobweb from his sleeve and stopped, with his eyes on Shi Feng's foot.

“That ankle,” Lin Langtian said, “has a face like a pickled melon.”

“It's fine,” Shi Feng said.

“It’s a very sad melon,” Lin Langtian added. He was grinning, but he kept watching the swollen ankle.

“Out,” Sima Lan said.

“I’m the Chief Disciple!” Lin Langtian protested.

“Out, Chief Disciple,” Sima Lan repeated, reaching for the ink stone.

Lin Langtian noticed her basin and grinned wickedly. He drew breath to tease them.

Sima Lan picked up the ink stone.

Lin Langtian left, whistling. Zhu Liu hurried after him, keeping out of the inkstone’s path.

The warehouse was quiet.

“Sit,” Sima Lan said.

“I’m sitting already,” Shi Feng pointed out.

“Then stop shifting that foot,” Sima Lan said. “Let me see what the boatman did.”

She set the basin on the floor and knelt on one knee. The water was warm and smelled of ginger and something bitter. She took his left foot in both hands and unwound the boatman's bedsheet, then stopped.

“This is a crime,” Sima Lan said flatly.

The ankle was twice its size and had gone a dark, shining purple. A line of green ran up toward the shin.

“It was set by a boatman,” Shi Feng said.

“It was set by someone who has never seen an ankle,” Sima Lan said, laying his foot on a folded towel. “You walked on this for a whole day. In front of everybody.”

“I had to check the timetable,” Shi Feng replied.

“Stupid,” Sima Lan said. “Hold still.”

She pressed her thumbs into the arch of his foot, and the swollen flesh flinched. Shi Feng drew a short breath. Her hands worked from heel to toes and around the ankle, clearing the trapped blood and qi.

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

“Clause fourteen. Three stones,” Sima Lan replied, keeping his foot steady.

“It said fitness. It didn’t say you’d be angry,” Shi Feng said.

“I'm not angry,” Sima Lan said.

“You pressed too hard,” Shi Feng said, unable to keep his voice quite level.

“I’m clearing the blood you left trapped there,” Sima Lan replied. “It’ll hurt less if you stop walking on it before it heals.”

They fell quiet. Old Soot croaked in its covered basket, flicking its tongue beneath the hissing lamp. Sima Lan ignored it.

“Plus one stone,” Sima Lan said. “For stupidity.”

“Is that a standing fee?” Shi Feng asked.

“It will be,” Sima Lan said. She kept her head lowered so he wouldn’t see how worried the swelling had made her.

The door banged open. Zhu Liu rushed in with a rolled letter in his fist, so out of breath that he had to bow twice to start.

“Senior Brother Shi! Senior Attendant Sima!” Zhu Liu called between breaths. “A courier from the sect, by Sky Pavilion post. The Chief Disciple read it on the stairs. He went… very quiet.”

“Read it,” Shi Feng said.

Zhu Liu unrolled it. “'Cuiping Herb Valley's Ninefold Lotus has ripened early. A three-sect truce has been called for the border town, for fifteen days. Martial Palace sends Yuan Kuang. Hundred Flower Valley's team—'” He swallowed. “'Is led by Ling Qingzhu.'”

The lamp flickered.

Shi Feng didn't move. At his belt, his thumb had found the violet purse string and rested on it, the way it did without his knowing.

Sima Lan's hands had stopped for half a breath. Then they began again, exactly as before, but a little harder.

“Hold still,” Sima Lan said.