Chapter 36 — A Courtyard with Two Owners

CHAPTER 36

A Courtyard with Two Owners

Past the southern gate, workshops lined the lane behind the main avenue. Shi Feng followed the sound of hammers until the lodging signs became smaller and the prices became sensible. He wanted a stove and a lock, not a painted ceiling.

An inn on the first avenue offered quiet rooms, fine furniture and a physician by appointment. Shi Feng asked the rate and decided he’d never be able to enjoy that much quiet. At the third street, a housing broker found him.

“Young master, new to the capital? Of course you are, you’re still staring at the roofs.” The man had a narrow face, a bright sash and a ring of keys as big as a melon. “This Bao Shun is at your service. A courtyard with a private well, a good room, a kitchen and a cheap price, all for you, young master!”

“Show me the courtyard first. Brag about it later,” Shi Feng said.

Bao Shun led him into Qingliu Lane, far from the main avenue, behind a row of workshops and a small market where people bought food instead of admiring it. The courtyard had a crooked pear tree, a kitchen with a freshly repaired stove, and one big room with a wide bed against the back wall and a clear patch of floor beside it.

Shi Feng checked the roof, then the door. Both held up fine. His opinion of the place went up a little.

“One hundred and twenty spirit stones a month, young master.” Bao Shun declared, spreading his arms. “And no troublesome neighbours.”

Beyond the wall, a hammer rang against an anvil for the fortieth time since they’d walked in.

“The man next door has been hitting metal this whole time,” Shi Feng said.

“A hard-working neighbour, young master,” Bao Shun said quickly. “That’s a good thing. Totally different from noisy.”

Shi Feng tested the well bucket, looked under the bed boards and checked the rear wall. The chimney drew well. The market was close enough to carry groceries by hand. He could cultivate here and sleep without wondering which wall would fall on him. In his heart, Shi Feng was already satisfied.

“Who’s the owner?” Shi Feng asked.

“Away,” Bao Shun said.

“And the deed?” Shi Feng asked.

“You can see it after you pay, young master,” Bao Shun said, jingling his keys. A folded lease protruded from his sleeve. Shi Feng read the owner's name before the broker pushed it away.

Shi Feng thought: I won’t pay a fee for a lock I can buy myself. He turned toward the gate without another word.

“It’s a custom, young master, only a standard agency custom!” Bao Shun said, scrambling after him.

“Then try it on someone else,” Shi Feng said. “The name on that paper isn’t yours. Charging a signing fee for an owner who isn’t even here? That’s ridiculous.”

Bao Shun’s expression changed, and his face turned pale. The broker was stunned that a country boy had read the paper so closely. Within the hour, he went and fetched the owner.

Jiang Meilan arrived with a basket of greens on her hip, and her expression soured the moment she saw the broker.

“One hundred and twenty?” Jiang Meilan shouted down the lane. “Bao Shun, you shameless weasel, you told me eighty!”

Bao Shun coughed into his sleeve. “Auntie Jiang, Auntie Jiang, don’t shout! The tenant wanted extra guarantees!”

“I wanted to see the roof,” Shi Feng said from beside the pear tree.

Jiang Meilan put down her basket. A woman haggling over cabbages at the mouth of the lane stopped to listen. The smith next door stopped hammering for the first time all morning.

“Forty stones!” Jiang Meilan shouted, jabbing a finger into the broker’s chest. “Forty stones you planned to swallow between my house and this boy’s purse, and you call it guarantees? Does your mother know what you do for a living?”

“Auntie, it’s a misunderstanding.” Bao Shun protested.

“Misunderstanding, my foot! Shameless!” Jiang Meilan snapped.

The whole lane came out to watch.

“Bao the Weasel again!”

“Last spring he rented one room to two widows at once,” Jiang Meilan said.

“…”

After an argument the cabbage seller would retell for half a month, the rent was settled at eighty stones a month, with a refundable deposit of twenty. Bao Shun took a ten-stone fee, with the hurt look of a man who’d hoped for four times that. Shi Feng paid only after all three amounts were written on one sheet of paper.

Jiang Meilan handed him a key. He tried it, then held out his other hand to Bao Shun, who pulled out a second key that opened the same lock.

“The spare belongs to the property office,” Bao Shun explained.

Jiang Meilan held out her palm without a word.

“…” Bao Shun gave up the key.

“Young master,” Bao Shun said at the gate, bravely trying again, “if you ever need anything in the capital, a cook, a sword polisher, a matchmaker—”

“I’ll check the roof first,” Shi Feng said, and shut the gate.

He walked to the little market, bought a new lock and fitted it himself.

Jiang Meilan watched from the lane and nodded. “Smart boy,” Jiang Meilan told the cabbage woman, her face finally softening. “Bao Shun will have another key made by tomorrow.”

After sunset the courtyard grew quiet, except for the smith and the cabbage woman, who’d found a new customer to argue with.

Shi Feng swept the dust from under the bed and opened the shutters to air the room. The pear tree cast a swaying shadow across the floor. He lit a small fire to test the stove, and the smoke went up the chimney instead of into his eyes. That alone made it better than several places he’d slept.

The hammering started again. Over the wall, a deep voice shouted about a bent hinge, then louder still.

“New neighbour! The hammer starts at dawn,” Dou Shan the smith bellowed. “Don’t complain!”

“I won’t,” Shi Feng called back.

The hammer started again. Shi Feng closed the shutter on the workshop side. That cut the noise enough for him.

He put his papers on a shelf away from the stove, with the damaged bone manual beside them. The sword hung within reach of the bed. Wei Kuo’s knife went into the fold of his spare robe.

Then he sat at the little table and counted his money. Enough for rent. Enough for food. Enough for some useful medicine, if he chose carefully.

Not enough to feed two hundred and six hungry bones. Shi Feng frowned. Being clever and being fed were two different things, he told himself, and the bones didn’t care how smart their owner was.

Outside, the capital went on through the night with cart wheels, faraway music and a hawker clearing his throat for one last sale. Past the rooftops, a great tower stood lit from its lowest floor to its highest balcony.

Sky Pavilion.

He’d seen its sign from the main avenue. Tomorrow he’d find out what the capital charged for cultivation. Tonight, he heated water and cooked rice.

As he set his empty rice bowl down, three sharp raps sounded on the outer courtyard shutter. Jiang Meilan’s voice came low through the wooden slats.

“New boy—keep your latch down tonight. A runner wearing a dark blue Wei badge just paid Bao Shun two stones at the corner tavern to ask which courtyard the traveler from Yunze Town rented.”

Shi Feng glanced from the locked gate toward the lit tiers of Sky Pavilion rising above the rooftops. Tomorrow morning couldn’t wait.