Chapter 373 — The Sulking Shore

CHAPTER 373

The Sulking Shore

“Discrimination!” Lin Langtian shouted at the lake. “Age discrimination!”

The lake didn't answer. It lay under a sky the colour of dishwater, flat and grey, with fine ash drifting over the water. Along the shore, hundreds of tents had gone up since morning. The north bank was red, with the gold-pillar banners of Martial Palace. The east bank held only a row of pale green stakes, saved for Hundred Flower Valley, whose carriages were late. Between them, forty or fifty small houses had planted their little flags wherever the ground was dry.

Artificer Hall had been given the south corner, downwind of everybody. Elder Qian Mo had checked the map twice. It wasn't a mistake.

“I'm early Nascent Soul!” Lin Langtian shouted. “I'm practically a child! What kind of seal stops a child?”

“It stops anyone at Nascent Soul or above,” Elder Tian Luo said patiently. He sat on a camp stool with a bowl of tea. “It's written on the Pavilion's notice.”

“Then the notice is wrong!” Lin Langtian declared, refusing to be consoled.

“Tuoba Hong is barred too,” Elder He Zhen said, pointing across the water with his cup. “See him? The red tent on the north bank.”

Lin Langtian turned. A tall man in a crimson robe stood stiffly outside the largest tent, arms folded, staring at the lake with enormous dignity. Even at this distance, his irritation showed beneath the dignified stance.

“Look at that,” Lin Langtian said with satisfaction. “He's sulking quietly. Amateur.”

“You're the amateur,” Qian Mo said. “You've been shouting for three days. You're playing the lute to a cow, and the ox has gone deaf.”

Gray Ear kept chewing ash grass at the edge of the camp with its back to everyone.

Shi Feng dropped his bag beside the tent. The twelve of them had ridden here in three carts. The nine seniors were arguing over bedrolls, Gongsun Ce was counting the Martial Palace tents, and Sima Lan had already set up a folding table and a ledger.

Lin Langtian slid down from the cart and stopped in front of him. For once he wasn't smiling. He put both hands on Shi Feng's shoulders and looked at him with great seriousness.

“Junior Brother,” Lin Langtian said. “Listen. Senior Brother is giving you the three laws of the realm. Remember them.”

“Go on,” Shi Feng said.

“One. Eat before you fight. Two. The man with the nicest voice is lying,” Lin Langtian said. “Three.” He lowered his voice. “If you find anything sweet to eat, bring me some. A leaf. A pebble. A single grain of ash. I don't care. Anything.”

“That's not a law,” Sima Lan said, writing it down.

“It’s the most important one!” Lin Langtian insisted.

“Which sweet thing?” Shi Feng asked.

“Any sweet thing,” Lin Langtian said. He let go and wiped his eye with a sleeve. “I've been outside every door in the world, Junior Brother. Just once I'd like to be the one who gets the leaf.”

“Why do you want to go in so badly?” Shi Feng asked.

Lin Langtian opened his mouth and shut it again. He took out a sweet potato, frowned at it and put it away without eating.

“Because I've never seen a good ash lake,” Lin Langtian said at last. “Go and set up your tent.”

At sunset a stir ran through the camp.

“Look at that!”

“Is that a spear?”

“Whose banner is that?”

“No banner. Small house. Hidden dragons and crouching tigers, as they say.”

“…”

Two men walked down the lake road on foot. The first was a tall young man in a plain grey robe with a long bundle wrapped in cloth on his back. An old scar ran down one side of his face, and the eye on that side was clouded. He walked steadily, in no hurry despite the crowded shore.

The second was old, thin and bent, with a bamboo hat pulled low and a walking stick he never seemed to use. He moved a pace behind, muttering to himself.

The old man began muttering about how old the lake was, then left the sentence unfinished.

“Senior. It’s been—” Tian Luo began, rising to bow.

The old man cut him off with a blunt refusal.

“I’m sorry?” Tian Luo asked, still bowed.

The old man started complaining about the tea, then shook his head and walked straight past the elder and picked a spot on the dry ground a good way from every tent. He sat down on it and did not look at anyone again.

Tian Luo remained bowed for another breath. Then he sat back on his stool and drank his tea.

The young man stopped in front of Shi Feng. He was a head taller. His good eye was bright and calm, and his hands hung loose at his sides.

“Shi Feng,” Gu Zhan said.

“Gu Zhan,” Shi Feng said.

“You replied,” Gu Zhan said, plainly pleased to see him.

“You asked for an answer,” Shi Feng replied.

“Your answer was short,” Gu Zhan said.

“So was your question,” Shi Feng pointed out.

Gu Zhan nodded once, as if that were a perfectly fair account. He looked at Shi Feng's back, where the dull grey Sword rode. He didn't ask about it.

“After the opening,” Gu Zhan said. “The central ground. I will find you.”

“I'll be there,” Shi Feng said.

Gu Zhan bowed his head a little and walked back to his master. The old man did not look up.

A gong sounded from the Sky Pavilion tent at the water's edge. A white-robed warden in a white sash stood on a crate and read from a scroll in a voice trained for crowds.

The warden announced that the seal opened at dawn. Entrants had to form up by the fifth bell, and anyone at Nascent Soul or above had to step back from the water.

Out on the lake, the ash rain thinned. In the very centre, where the grey was deepest, it stopped falling altogether, as if the lake were listening.