Chapter 362 — Twenty Points

CHAPTER 362

Twenty Points

“Orthodox,” Examiner Tao Heng said, and put down the paper.

The Pairing Hall was smaller than the others, with eleven desks and a long window facing the tower court. Each candidate had received a case card that morning. A Nascent Soul cultivator whose qi split in two at every breath. Twelve herbs on the tray. Pair them into one prescription, in writing, with reasons.

Shi Feng stood at the front desk with his answer in his hand. The marked papers were being returned one by one, and the tower's chief examiner had started with him.

“Your bridge herb,” Tao Heng said. “The orthodox answer is purple jade marrow. It binds the two halves of the qi. Every pairing manual since the tower was founded says so.”

“Purple jade marrow is also very expensive,” Shi Feng said. “And it irritates the lungs of anyone who already coughs.”

“That’s a separate question,” Tao Heng said, refusing to consider the cough.

“It's the same patient,” Shi Feng said. “The card says he coughs.”

The hall went quiet. Master Ruan, at the next desk, stopped sharpening his brush.

“You wrote sand-willow root,” Tao Heng said.

“It binds the same way, a little slower,” Shi Feng explained. “It also soothes the lungs. I paired it with frost-nettle to speed it up.”

“Unorthodox,” Tao Heng said.

“Does it work?” Shi Feng asked, keeping the case card beside his answer.

“The question asks for the orthodox answer,” Tao Heng replied, tapping the paper.

“Then the question should say so,” Shi Feng said.

“The question says what the examiner says it says,” Tao Heng said. His voice was perfectly pleasant. “Twenty points deducted. Candidates are expected to follow the manual, not improve it. Without a compass and a square, there are no circles and no squares.”

He held out the paper. Shi Feng took it. Across the top, in neat red characters, was written Unorthodox, -20, and a line under it.

“Thank you for the mark,” Shi Feng said, and bowed.

Tao Heng's eyes narrowed. He couldn't tell whether he was being mocked. Master Ruan looked at the ceiling.

The results board went up at noon, and this time the crowd was thicker.

A hundred spectators had come to the tower to watch the trial. They stood in the court below and craned their necks, and a clerk read the results from a platform. Eleven had sat the pairing round. Nine would advance to the final.

The spectators quieted as Master Ruan was announced first with one hundred and twelve points. He bowed to their applause, one hand on his beard.

Yu Shenggu came second with one hundred and four.

The names rolled on. A fat alchemist with a gold ring. A woman from the western towers in a green robe. A grey-haired man who had once tutored a prince. Each one was cheered by a few and ignored by the rest.

The clerk announced ninth place: number thirty-two, Shi Feng of Artificer Hall, with eighty-four points.

The applause stopped.

“Eighth?”

“Who's number thirty-two?”

“The Golden Core child!”

“The one from the weakest sect?”

“That's the champion's boy!”

“…”

“He's in,” Sima Lan said, standing at the edge of the attendants' bench with the ledger on her arm. She sounded relieved, then angry again when she checked his marked paper. “By four points.”

“Four,” Shi Feng said.

“If the tower hadn't taken twenty, you'd be tied for second,” Sima Lan said.

“Would I?” Shi Feng asked, checking the gap himself.

“I’ve done the sums twice,” Sima Lan replied, looking at the red mark. “Hold that up.”

He held it up. She read the number, wrote it, and underlined it so hard the chalk snapped.

“Debt,” Sima Lan said. “Twenty points. Owed by the Duanyang Sky Pavilion tower to Shi Feng of Artificer Hall. Interest, one point per day, from today.”

“The tower doesn’t know it owes me,” Shi Feng pointed out.

“The tower will be informed,” Sima Lan said. “In writing. When the interest is worth reading.”

A warden at the edge of the bench heard it and turned very slowly to look at the sky. Sima Lan did not smile. She only added a second line below the first, in smaller letters.

Collect from: Examiner Tao Heng, personally.

On the platform, Master Ruan walked past with his followers. He stopped in front of Shi Feng. He was a head shorter, and the beard rose and fell.

“Last place,” Master Ruan said. “Sit near the door, child. That's where the last ones go.”

“Thank you,” Shi Feng said.

“It wasn’t a kindness,” Master Ruan said, irritated by the thanks.

“I know,” Shi Feng said. “I'd like to be near the door anyway.”

Master Ruan blinked. He looked at the tall young man, at the plain robe, at the calm face that didn't care what seat he was given, and lost the desire to finish his prepared insult. He walked on without finishing it.

“He's afraid,” Yu Shenggu murmured behind him.

“I am not afraid,” Master Ruan said. “I'm fifty years of reputation, and I'm cross.”

From the end of the long corridor, Assessor Wen Lu watched all of it. She had been standing under the carved ceiling beam since the results were read, with her hands folded. When the crowd turned and began to leave, she went slowly to the chief examiner’s door, knocked once, and went inside.

The door closed. Through it came the murmur of two people talking quietly through a disagreement.

Shi Feng and Sima Lan went down the stairs.

“Tomorrow is the lot draw,” Sima Lan said. “For the final.”

“I know,” Shi Feng replied.

“There are nine furnaces in the tower's rack and nine lots in a bamboo jar,” Sima Lan said. “You'll draw last.”

“Why last?” Shi Feng asked.

“Because you're ninth,” Sima Lan said. “Sit near the door.”