Chapter 347 — Nine Years

CHAPTER 347

Nine Years

“A misunderstanding,” Mao Jun said. “It is only a small misunderstanding in the rounding.”

He stood in the middle of the main hall with his hands folded and the same smile on his face, though it looked tired now. Elder Tian Luo sat on the dais with the register under one hand. Elder He Zhen and Elder Qian Mo stood beside him. Six chests had been set on the floor, and on the table beside them stood a row of thirty-one clay jars with red wax on the lids.

Shi Feng stood to one side with Sima Lan and Zhu Liu. His stomach had finally stopped ringing. He was thinner than a week ago and glad to be standing without the ache doubling him over.

“Steward Mao,” Tian Luo said. “Nine years. A fifth of every quarter.”

“River damage, Elder, and spoilage…” Mao Jun began.

“The towns kept their receipts,” Tian Luo interrupted.

“Then the towns are mistaken,” Mao Jun insisted, clinging to the excuse.

“The Qiao house and the Iron Fist Gate kept their gifts,” Sima Lan said, “in the form of thirty-one jars you didn't throw away.”

“I am a frugal man,” Mao Jun said weakly.

“Deacon Kong Hui of Martial Palace,” Tian Luo said, “has paid back the loan in full, in person, and signed the receipt.”

For the first time, the smile left Mao Jun's face.

“Then he knows me,” Mao Jun said. “Then Deacon Kong Hui will speak for me. Send for him! He told me himself that if anything ever—”

“He told us,” Shi Feng said, “that he has never heard your name.”

The hall was silent.

Mao Jun looked at the elders, then the jars, then the chests. For nine years he’d served the powerful from that small grey building. Now their spokesman had denied knowing his name. Mao Jun finally understood that they intended to abandon him.

“I see,” Mao Jun said.

“The sect master's judgment,” Tian Luo said, “is that you are stripped of your post and expelled from Artificer Hall. What remains of your house in Duanyang City returns to the Treasury. You will leave by the gate before noon.”

Beside the chests, a stooped old man in a patched brown robe was leaning on a broom and counting spirit stones into piles of ten with a wet thumb. Mao Jun's eyes passed over him as they had for nine years, and did not stop.

He opened his mouth, and for once nothing came out.

The expulsion was quiet.

Cui Hong walked the former steward down the stone stair himself, carrying nothing but a bundle of clothes. At the outer gate, two Martial Palace outer-court disciples in white were waiting, with sealed letters in their hands and eager faces. They saw Mao Jun coming. They looked at each other and turned their backs. When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter.

Mao Jun stood in the sun for a long time. Then he picked up his bundle and walked down the road alone.

Cui Hong watched him go, then went back to his notice board.

In the main hall, Li Changyuan counted the spirit stones again.

“Six thousand,” Li Changyuan said, and began to count them back into the chests. “Again.”

“Sect Master,” Qian Mo said. The Treasury elder was thin and pale, and his hands shook around the black walnut abacus. “Please. I have already counted three times.”

“You’re still staring at them as though they might disappear,” Li Changyuan said. “Again. You’ll have to believe the total eventually.”

Qian Mo counted. Li Changyuan counted. Sima Lan stood with her ledger and watched both of them with a look of cold approval.

At the end, Qian Mo laid down the abacus and read two numbers aloud. His voice cracked on the second.

“The Treasury's book,” Qian Mo said. “The Outer Affairs book. They agree.”

“They agree?” He Zhen repeated.

“For the first time in nine years, they agree on a number,” Qian Mo said, taking off his cap. “I've been waiting for this since I was young, like waiting for the Yellow River to run clear. I thought I would retire first.”

“Don't retire,” Li Changyuan said. “Who'd keep the keys?”

A strange noise echoed through the hall.

It began low and rose. Lin Langtian stood in the doorway with a sweet potato in one hand and his other hand pressed to his heart. Tears were running down his face. His shoulders shook.

“Junior Brother,” Lin Langtian sobbed. “Look what you've done. They agree!”

“Senior Brother,” Shi Feng said.

“I raised you!” Lin Langtian wailed. “From a poor little boy with a bad ledger! And now the Treasury and the Outer Affairs shake hands in public! I can die happy!”

“Please don't,” Shi Feng said.

“The ceiling's shaking,” He Zhen muttered.

“He's wetting the floor,” Qian Mo said.

“Stop crying on the stones,” Li Changyuan said, without looking up from his counting. “Water gets in the chests. Wet stones rust. I'll bill you.”

“These are tears of pride, Sect Master!” Lin Langtian wailed.

“Tears are tears. Seven stones,” Li Changyuan replied, still counting.

Lin Langtian cried even louder.

Shi Feng stepped up and set a folded paper on the edge of the table. Zhu Liu had written it, and Sima Lan had checked it twice.

“Expenses,” Shi Feng said. “Contract paper, eleven stones. Open post, three. The second stamp was free.”

Li Changyuan took the sheet in two fingers. He read it. He looked at Shi Feng for a long time.

“Fourteen stones,” Li Changyuan said. “You brought in six thousand, and you ask fourteen.”

“It's the cost of the paper,” Shi Feng said. “The rest belongs to the Treasury.”

Qian Mo counted out fourteen stones with a pained face.

Lin Langtian finished wiping his face on his sleeve. He blew his nose loudly, then came across the hall and put a heavy arm over Shi Feng's shoulders.

“Eat well this week, Junior Brother,” Lin Langtian said, and his eyes had a certain gleam. “Soon, I'll need your stomach and your hands.”

“My stomach only just recovered,” Shi Feng said.

“Exactly,” Lin Langtian said, pleased that he’d recovered. “That’s why.”