Chapter 424 — The Counter-Invoice

CHAPTER 424

The Counter-Invoice

For a long time the only sound in the room was the lamp.

Then Ling Qingzhu lifted her chin. The red had gone from her neck, and her face was composed again, the face the Register had seen when it ranked her first. Only her thumb, pressed hard against her cup, gave her away.

“I see,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Every month.”

“Yes,” Shi Feng said.

“For twenty months,” Ling Qingzhu repeated, holding his gaze.

“About that,” Shi Feng confirmed.

“And in twenty months,” Ling Qingzhu said, “you didn't once manage to write back. Not one line. Not 'received' or 'the weather is cold' or 'please stop sending couriers.'”

“I didn't know what to write,” Shi Feng replied honestly.

“Then that's a debt,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“A debt?” Shi Feng asked, surprised by her choice of words.

“Twenty months of replies. Twenty months, Shi Feng. I counted them,” Ling Qingzhu said, setting down the cup. She folded her hands and tried to look stern. “You're a man who believes every debt should be written down. So I'll write it down. I'll invoice you.”

“You'll invoice me,” Shi Feng said.

“With an itemised list,” Ling Qingzhu declared.

“In your own hand?” Shi Feng asked, fighting a smile.

“In my own hand,” Ling Qingzhu said. “It'll be very careful. You won't be able to dispute a line.”

She stood and picked up the empty tray. She walked to the door with her back so straight it looked painful. At the threshold she stopped.

“Eat something tomorrow,” Ling Qingzhu said. “You didn't touch the rice at supper. The Valley cook counts. A cultivator's road goes against heaven, but you still have to eat on it.”

She was gone before he could answer.

That was the proudest retreat I have ever seen, Shi Feng thought. He was smiling despite himself. He put his left hand over his mouth, in case someone walked in.

The invoice arrived the next morning.

Lin Yue brought it. She stood in the guest court doorway in her blue sash with her chin high, holding a folded square of pale green paper in both hands, looking embarrassed to be delivering it.

“From Senior Sister Ling,” Lin Yue said. “I'm to wait for a receipt.”

“A receipt?” Sima Lan said. She had been sorting the morning's herb bills at the low table, and she looked up with a flicker of professional interest.

“She said you'd want one,” Lin Yue said, to Shi Feng. “She said, 'He keeps receipts for everything.'”

Shi Feng took the paper with his left hand and opened it.

The writing was small and upright and very careful. Every character was carefully formed. It was the hand of someone who had rewritten it more than once.

INVOICE

Debtor: Shi Feng, Artificer Hall.

Creditor: Ling Qingzhu, Hundred Flower Valley.

Subject: Twenty months of replies.

Item one. One tea, drunk while it is still hot. Per day.

Item two. One meal, eaten sitting down, with both feet under the table. Per day.

Item three. One night of sleep in a proper bed, on any night when no one is dying.

Item four. The right arm to be kept still until the Valley physician says otherwise. No writing.

Item five. One letter, in your own hand, any length, on the first of each month. It may say anything. It may say “the weather is cold.”

Interest: none.

Payable: on demand.

(Please do not ask me what I mean by item five.)

He read it twice.

Not one item cost a stone. Ling Qingzhu wanted him to eat, sleep and rest his injured arm. She'd written it as a bill because she knew he wouldn't ignore one. And at the end, she asked him to write back.

She's been counting the meals I skip, he thought.

Sima Lan had stopped sorting. She read over his shoulder, annoyed that Ling Qingzhu had found a new way to make him listen.

“Item four is already in force,” Sima Lan said. “The Valley physician said the same to me on the first day.”

“You didn't tell me,” Shi Feng said, looking back at her.

“You didn't ask,” Sima Lan said. “Item five has no fee.”

“No,” Shi Feng agreed.

“It has no cap. It has no end date,” Sima Lan pointed out sharply.

“No,” Shi Feng agreed.

“It's the worst contract I've ever read,” Sima Lan said. “I'd never have let you sign it.”

“I haven't signed it,” Shi Feng reminded her.

“You haven't disputed it,” Sima Lan said. “I've been watching you for a full minute. You haven't disputed a single line.”

“Senior Brother Shi, the receipt...” Lin Yue prompted, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

Shi Feng took a clean slip from the table and wrote one line with his left hand. Then he thought better of it, and added a second.

Received. No dispute.

He signed it, and Sima Lan, with an expression of deep pain, stamped it.

“Tell her I'll start with item one tonight,” Shi Feng said. “If the tea comes hot.”

Lin Yue was out the door at a run.

The invoice went into his sleeve beside the slip that said She's sick, and the violet purse string. He did not look at Sima Lan again.

“Eat breakfast,” Sima Lan said, going back to the herb bills. “Sitting down.”