Chapter 435 — The Man Who Stepped Into the Air

CHAPTER 435

The Man Who Stepped Into the Air

“Eighteen jars,” Merchant Yue Tong said, “and a discount for a man who has come all the way from Qingyun City on a bad road.”

“Ninety-six stones a jar,” Sima Lan said, without looking up. “The road is not on the label.”

“Eighty-eight, then, at the sign of friendship!” Yue Tong cried.

“One hundred and eleven,” Sima Lan said. “That is the friendship price. The price for a man who mentions the road a third time is one hundred and twenty.”

Merchant Yue Tong laughed so hard that he had to lean on the stall.

He was a plump man in a yellow silk jacket with an abacus on his belt. He had bought eighteen jars of Clear Marrow Pill for resale, and then, having paid, stayed to talk. Shi Feng had met the type before. They were harmless merchants who picked up news at every stop and enjoyed repeating it.

Shi Feng was writing price labels with a small brush. Zhu Liu sat on the stool at his feet, tying the jars with red string. The queue had thinned for the noon hour.

“You're going to the Assembly, I hear,” Yue Tong said, counting out coins. “The Pavilion has hung the showcase list in the tower hall at Qingyun City. Six masters, in gold ink.”

“I know,” Shi Feng said.

“Yours is the last name,” Yue Tong added hastily. “Because you're the youngest. No disrespect. A tall tree catches the wind, as they say.” He leaned over the table and dropped his voice. “But I'll tell you a funny thing. There ought to have been a seventh.”

Sima Lan's chalk paused.

“There were six seats,” Zhu Liu said.

“There were only six in the end,” Yue Tong replied, wagging a finger. “Master Ji Yuanhe, of Hongye Kingdom, a 2 Mark. Sixty years old, a little round. He got his invitation last spring. Same card, same gold border.”

“What happened to him?” Shi Feng asked.

“That's the funny thing!” Yue Tong slapped the table. “He took a walk!”

“A walk,” Shi Feng said.

“In the main market, at midday,” Yue Tong explained. “His apprentice was carrying his furnace behind him. The street was crowded. Master Ji looked quite cheerful, and then...”

He lifted one hand, palm up, and made a slow, upward gesture.

“He stepped into the air,” Yue Tong said.

Zhu Liu stopped tying a string.

“Into the air?” Zhu Liu said.

“Mid-step. One foot on the ground and the other going up, as if there were a stair. And then he wasn't there,” Yue Tong said with an uneasy chuckle. “A woman selling pickles saw it. She told the guards. They looked at the sky, then at the pickles, then at her. They wrote her up for drinking.”

“And the master?” Sima Lan said.

“Never seen again. Not a hair. The apprentice sat in the road for two days,” Yue Tong answered, gathering his jars and trying to sound casual. “People say he got cold feet. Didn't want to compete against, ah, you. That's the joke, really. Everyone knew you would sweep the terrace—”

He stopped.

He had looked up at last, and nobody was laughing.

Sima Lan put down her chalk and looked at Shi Feng, waiting for his reaction. Zhu Liu sat with his hands motionless over the string. A cart rolled by on Salt Well Street, and a child laughed, and the sound seemed very far away.

Shi Feng set his brush on the rest.

Ink dripped from the wet brush and spread over the price label. Shi Feng let it spread. He was thinking about the missing alchemist, not the spoiled paper.

“Where did you hear this?” Shi Feng asked.

“Oh... the tower clerks. The pickle woman's cousin,” Yue Tong replied, losing the last of his cheerfulness. “It's only market talk, Alchemist Shi.”

“Which direction did he step?” Shi Feng asked.

“Pardon?” Yue Tong said.

“You said he stepped up,” Shi Feng said. “Not forward. Up.”

“That's what she said,” Yue Tong answered, licking his lips. “It's a pickle seller's tale. I only meant to make you laugh.”

“Mm,” Sima Lan said, and wrote something on the slate that she did not show him.

Yue Tong gathered his jars, bowed three times, and hurried away, wishing he'd chosen another story. The yellow jacket vanished around the corner of the tower.

For a while, nobody said anything.

“It's probably a story,” Zhu Liu said at last. “A good one. Senior Brother Shi, it's probably...”

“Probably,” Shi Feng said.

He looked down at the blotted label. He didn't reach for a cloth.

“Sima Lan,” Shi Feng said. “Write the Assembly date on a clean sheet.”

“It's already in the book,” Sima Lan said.

“Write it again,” Shi Feng said.

Sima Lan looked at him a moment longer. Then she wrote it, and under it, in smaller characters, she added a line he didn't ask for. Qingyun City. Three months. Do not walk anywhere alone.

He didn't tell her to strike it out.