Chapter 348 — The Twelfth Tablet

CHAPTER 348

The Twelfth Tablet

The last tablet on the second floor was black with age, and it had been beating him for six days.

Shi Feng stood in the stone ring with the Sword in his hand. On the tablet, a pale old man with a heavy blade closed the Nine Gates one after another. Every gate was a cut Shi Feng had to break, and he had broken eight.

“Nine Gates Closing Sword,” Keeper Yan had told him on the first morning. “Golden Core-grade. Most disciples stop at the fifth gate and call it enough.”

“I'm not most disciples,” Shi Feng had said.

“I know,” Keeper Yan had said. “That's the problem.”

Now she stood by the stairs with her record book held to her chest, trying not to look hopeful. Zhu Liu sat on the floor beside her. He had written Floor two, forty points so many times that the line had worn a groove.

Shi Feng raised the Sword.

The ninth gate descended, blocking the whole line of his sword. He didn't cut at it. He let the Ember Rain Sword run first, and qi flowed down his arm until the blade glowed dull red.

One cut. Sparks rose.

The cinders didn't fall this time. They hung in a red curtain in front of him. Shi Feng turned his wrist, and every ember turned with it. They went where he sent them, into the cracks of the gate, one by one.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The ninth gate split from top to bottom. The old man on the tablet lowered his blade, bowed and faded out. The stone lit softly: Floor two, cleared.

Shi Feng understood the change at once. He could guide the released embers instead of merely scattering them from his sword.

Major Success.

Keeper Yan's record book hit the floor.

“Major Success,” Keeper Yan whispered. “Ember Rain. At early Golden Core!”

“It took a while,” Shi Feng said.

“The last man to do it on this floor needed fifty-one years, and he died before he could carve his name on the wall!” Keeper Yan exclaimed, turning to Zhu Liu. “Zhu Liu! Go and get Keeper Ou. Tell him to bring his tea.”

“Why the tea?” Zhu Liu asked.

“Because he's going to need to sit down!” Keeper Yan snapped.

Zhu Liu ran. Keeper Ou arrived in under a minute, broom in one hand and cup balanced on the handle. He looked at the dark tablet, the burning chips on the floor and Keeper Yan's white face.

“Show him,” Keeper Yan said.

Shi Feng raised the Sword again. One cut, one curtain of embers. Then he turned his wrist, and the red dust drew a full circle around the ring and settled on the stone in a perfect line.

Nobody spoke.

“Well?” Keeper Ou said at last, hoarse. “How is it?”

“So-so,” Shi Feng said.

“So-so,” Keeper Ou repeated, sitting down hard on the top step. The cup slid off the broom, and he didn't catch it. “On my floor he said so-so about Perfection. On yours he says it about this. The waves behind push the waves ahead, they say. What do you tell a boy like that?”

“Nothing,” Keeper Yan said faintly. “Don't tell him anything.”

Zhu Liu wrote it all down, and added the date.

The sun was high when Shi Feng came out of the Pagoda. Beside the mop at the door, on the bottom step, sat Lin Langtian with a sweet potato in each hand.

“Junior Brother!” Lin Langtian cried. “I've been waiting since dawn!”

“You're not allowed on her floor,” Shi Feng said.

“I’m on the step! The step belongs to Ou!” Lin Langtian protested. “Keeper Ou, tell him the step is yours!”

“Don't look at me,” Keeper Ou's voice said from inside. “I'm not here.”

“You see? Perfectly legal,” Lin Langtian said, beaming. “Junior Brother, I have important news. Today is my birthday.”

Shi Feng looked at him.

“Your birthday was in spring,” Shi Feng said.

“That was my sect birthday!” Lin Langtian insisted.

“And the one in summer?” Shi Feng asked.

“My market birthday! Those people only gave me wine,” Lin Langtian explained, counting on his potatoes. “Sect, market, temple and real. Today is the real one, and it's my fourth this year. A man only gets one real birthday!”

“Four,” Shi Feng said.

“The fourth is the one that counts!” Lin Langtian said, and for a moment the loud cheer went out of his voice. “So I thought about my present. I don't want wine. I don't want a banner.”

“What do you want?” Shi Feng asked, noticing the sudden change in his voice.

“A pill. Nascent Soul-grade,” Lin Langtian said, lifting a finger. “One that works.”

“I've failed every one,” Shi Feng said. “You've watched me eat them.”

“That's what makes it a good present! Rare! Expensive! A thing is prized for being rare, as the saying goes! A man treasures what's hard to get!” Lin Langtian clapped him on the shoulder. “Your fire's steadier than at the cavern. You count your breaths. Even your waste is nicely cooked now.”

“It’s still waste,” Shi Feng replied. “A present has to work after it leaves my furnace.”

“Very good waste,” Lin Langtian said warmly. “Try once more for your senior brother. In front of witnesses. Zhu Liu, write it down.”

“Yes, Senior Brother Lin!” Zhu Liu said, already writing.

Shi Feng thought, Four birthdays, and only the fourth counts. For once, his senior brother seemed to mean the request beneath the jokes. Shi Feng didn’t press him about it.

“I'll try,” Shi Feng said.

“Good boy! The herbs will come by evening,” Lin Langtian said. “A great many.”

He went off down the path whistling. Keeper Yan peered out of the Pagoda door, watched him go and sighed with deep relief.

Before the lamps were lit, the first sack arrived. Then the second.