Chapter 353 — Haggling by Letter

CHAPTER 353

Haggling by Letter

“Two clouds,” Li Changyuan said. “Faint.”

“Faint!” Lin Langtian agreed. He sat on the floor of the old man's hut with his arms crossed, bright-eyed and smelling of sweet potatoes and no sleep. “But two! And a pill the size of a pea, nine green lines, perfectly round. I ate it. It tasted of lotus and ambition.”

“It needed salt,” Shi Feng said.

“It needed salt,” Lin Langtian admitted.

The hut was small and cold, and morning light came through the broken shutter in a thin yellow stripe. Li Changyuan sat behind his low table with his broom across his knees. Qian Mo waited by the door, gripping his abacus. Sima Lan was seated on a stool with the ledger open. Zhu Liu was in the corner, writing so fast that his brush squeaked.

“Hm,” Li Changyuan said.

He looked at Shi Feng for a long time. Shi Feng stood and waited.

“One pill isn't a trade,” Li Changyuan said.

“I know,” Shi Feng replied, accepting the warning.

“You made it once. You’ll have to make it ten times in front of strangers,” Li Changyuan said. “Don’t mistake one good night for reliable control.”

“I know,” Shi Feng said.

“Good,” Li Changyuan said with a slow nod. “Then you register.”

Elder Qian Mo dropped his abacus.

It hit the floor with a crash, and three beads rolled across the boards. Nobody moved to pick them up.

“Sect Master!” Elder Qian Mo cried. “The 2 Mark! At the Duanyang Tower! The youngest 2 Mark in the whole region is sixty-one years old! As the saying goes, haste won't let you eat hot tofu!”

“Shi Feng is twenty,” Li Changyuan said.

“And the fee!” Qian Mo protested, bending to gather the beads.

“Hm,” Li Changyuan murmured, pulling a sheet of coarse paper toward him. “What's the fee?”

“Three thousand stones to enter the trial. No refunds. Examiner’s tea not included,” Qian Mo recited unhappily, still on his knees.

“Three thousand,” Li Changyuan said.

“Three thousand!” Qian Mo repeated, hoping the total would make him reconsider.

“I’m not paying three thousand,” Li Changyuan said, taking up his brush. “Lin Langtian. Sit up. I need a clever voice.”

“Sect Master,” Lin Langtian said happily, “you've never asked for one before.”

“Today I’m desperate,” Li Changyuan replied, pushing the paper toward him.

The letter took the whole morning.

Li Changyuan wrote, and Lin Langtian dictated, and Sima Lan corrected every second sentence. The result began: To Clerk Du of the Duanyang Tower, Sky Pavilion: Artificer Hall respectfully notes that three thousand stones is a figure that sounds expensive. It went on to explain that the candidate would use no tower tea, no tower chair and no tower air, that the sect would bring its own, and that a discount might reasonably be offered to the youngest applicant in the region's history. The last line read: This is not a threat. It is a fact about the Pavilion's reputation.

“Is that the right tone?” Zhu Liu asked.

“It's exactly the tone,” Lin Langtian said. “Menace wrapped in manners.”

“It's exactly the tone of a man who hasn't paid for his own coal,” Sima Lan said, and crossed out a line.

The letter went to Duanyang by Sky Pavilion runner at noon. At midday the next day, the runner came back.

Two thousand eight hundred, Clerk Du had written, in neat black ink. The Pavilion does not discount for age. It does allow a courtesy rate for first-time applicants from sects of fewer than a hundred disciples.

“We have far fewer than a hundred,” Elder Qian Mo said, “if you don't count the coal tenants.”

“Ha!” Li Changyuan exclaimed, taking up his brush again.

Three letters followed. Two thousand five hundred. Two thousand three hundred and fifty, with a remark that the Pavilion's patience was not unlimited. Two thousand two hundred, with a remark about the Pavilion's patience being exhausted. Li Changyuan answered each one with a longer and more sorrowful letter. His last said that the sect had a sweeper who was too old to carry the coins, and that he feared the stones would arrive late.

Two thousand, Clerk Du wrote. No tea. Final.

“Two thousand,” Li Changyuan said. He sat back, and for the first time that week, he allowed himself a satisfied smile. “I have never lost a haggle with the Pavilion.”

“You've never won one either,” Elder Qian Mo said faintly.

“Today I came close,” Li Changyuan said, nodding at Shi Feng. “The sect pays half. The rest is yours.”

“Why?” Shi Feng asked.

“A man should pay for his own mark once,” Li Changyuan said. “For the practice.”

Shi Feng thought about it for a moment, then took out his purse and counted out a thousand stones. Sima Lan wrote the sum in the ledger and drew a neat line under it.

“Letter corrections,” Sima Lan said coolly. “Attendant's time, no charge. This once.”

“Free!” Lin Langtian cried, with a potato halfway to his mouth. “Did everyone hear? Zhu Liu, write that down!”

“I'm writing it,” Zhu Liu said, “in red.”

The registration letter went out that afternoon. By evening, a reply came back with a white Pavilion seal. Zhu Liu broke it open and read it aloud, and his voice began to shake.

Artificer Hall disciple Shi Feng is registered for the 2 Mark trial. The Tower notes that applicants below Golden Core are not accepted. The Tower has checked the applicant's record twice. He is at Golden Core.

Under the signature, in smaller ink, someone had added: Both stamps are in the right corner.

“Who writes a thing like that?” Elder Qian Mo muttered.

“Clerk Du,” Shi Feng said.

“He's hurt,” Lin Langtian said happily. “He's still hurt about the double stamps. I love that man.”