Chapter 447 — Two Old Men, One Silence

CHAPTER 447

Two Old Men, One Silence

Elder Yin Zhao did not get a number. He got a long, patient look at the cabbages.

Shi Feng had followed him down from the terrace with his sleeve over the pill box. Above them the crowd was still shouting the count. Seven, seven, seven. Nobody wanted to be the one who stopped.

Li Changyuan sat on his upturned bucket at the foot of the stairs with the broom across his knees. He had been sitting there since the third cloud. Half the crowd had walked around him without looking, because they took him for the sweeper.

The other half were the Pavilion's own attendants, and they bowed to the broom.

“Elder Yin,” Li Changyuan said, without standing. “The stairs are wet. Mind your feet.”

“Sect Master, your disciple,” Elder Yin Zhao said. He straightened his robe. He wore the white-and-gold sash of a Pavilion examining elder. “Seven clouds at his age. In forty years of tower service, I've never seen it. Not once.”

“Neither have I,” Li Changyuan said. “I was busy sweeping.”

“Let's speak in the tower hall,” Yin Zhao suggested. “We can sit down over tea.”

“Is the tea free?” Li Changyuan asked at once.

Elder Yin Zhao blinked. “Of course.”

“Then lead the way,” Li Changyuan said. “Boy, bring the pill box. And your abacus girl.”

“Attendant,” Sima Lan said, appearing at Shi Feng's elbow with her slate.

“That's what I said,” Li Changyuan said.

The tower hall was warm and quiet, with a long table and a pot of green tea that smelled expensive. Elder Yin Zhao poured for Li Changyuan first, then, after a pause, for Shi Feng. Sima Lan stood behind Shi Feng's chair with her slate against her chest. Zhu Liu hovered at the door holding a basket of receipts, as if somebody might ask for one.

“I'll be direct,” Elder Yin Zhao said. “The Qingyun regional tower wishes to offer your disciple a seat. Honorary examiner's rank, a private furnace room, access to the Pavilion's recipe vault up to the 2 Mark shelves, and a stipend of three hundred stones a month. He would study here, under the Pavilion's own masters.”

He folded his hands.

“A talent like this should not be wasted in a poor sect. Good steel belongs on the blade's edge,” Elder Yin Zhao said.

“No,” Li Changyuan replied after a sip of tea.

“Sect Master, think of his future,” Yin Zhao urged. “Men climb to higher places, as water flows downward. We can give him better conditions.”

“I have thought of it. He's staying,” Li Changyuan said firmly.

“The recipe vault alone—” Yin Zhao began.

“Has a door. Our door is closer,” Li Changyuan interrupted, setting down his cup. “He's my disciple. He stays on my mountain. You may admire him from there.”

“At least let him answer for himself,” Elder Yin Zhao said. He turned. “Young master Shi?”

Shi Feng looked at the tea. It was still too hot to drink.

He said nothing.

Neither elder spoke. Zhu Liu held his breath.

“You see?” Li Changyuan said, quite loudly. He slapped the table. “The boy's silent because he's loyal. Look at that face. Not one flicker. A disciple who won't even say a rude word about the other side. I raised him well.”

“Nonsense,” Elder Yin Zhao said. He leaned forward, and his eyes sharpened. “He is silent because he is weighing my offer. That's a man doing sums. He knows the Pavilion's seat is worth far more than a broom.”

“It's loyalty,” Li Changyuan insisted.

“It's calculation,” Yin Zhao countered.

“Loyalty!” Li Changyuan snapped.

“Calculation!” Yin Zhao shot back.

Both old men leaned toward him, demanding an answer. Sima Lan nearly laughed, then covered it with a cough.

“Well?” Li Changyuan said. “Tell him, boy.”

“Tell me,” Elder Yin Zhao said. “Which is it?”

Shi Feng picked up his cup. It had cooled enough.

“I'm silent,” Shi Feng said, “because neither of you has said a number.”

Everyone fell silent.

Elder Yin Zhao's mouth opened. Li Changyuan's eyebrows rose. Zhu Liu's basket slipped, and receipts spilled across the floor in a white drift.

“A number,” Elder Yin Zhao said.

“For the offer,” Shi Feng said. “Three hundred a month is the stipend. Nobody's priced what the sect loses if I go.”

“Hm,” Li Changyuan said. His whole face had softened. “That's not loyalty. That's better.”

“That's not calculation either,” Elder Yin Zhao said weakly. “That's...”

“Trade,” Sima Lan said, writing on her slate. “I'd start at ten years.”

“Ten years of what?” Elder Yin Zhao asked.

“Fees,” Sima Lan said. “Every certification, every registration, every tower stamp Artificer Hall pays to the Pavilion. A tenth of what we pay now. For ten years. In exchange, the seat stays vacant, and the Pavilion may say it was offered.”

Elder Yin Zhao looked at her. Li Changyuan was studying his broom bristles with great interest.

“You are not the sect master,” Elder Yin Zhao said.

“I'm the attendant,” Sima Lan said. “He's the sect master. He's busy.”

“A tenth,” Elder Yin Zhao said. “Ten years. Impossible!”

“Then the seat stays vacant, and we leave,” Li Changyuan said, standing at last. “Lovely tea.”

“Wait!” Yin Zhao called, reaching across the table. He forced himself to slow down. For a long moment he did the sum himself. Seven clouds. The youngest 2 Mark in the region's history. A name the Pavilion's own headquarters would ask about by autumn.

“A tenth,” Elder Yin Zhao said, almost to himself. “Ten years. And the boy's records, in full, go north under my seal. Under the Pavilion's name. Not a rumour. Not a clerk's copy.”

“North?” Shi Feng asked.

“To the Pavilion's headquarters,” Elder Yin Zhao said. “Seven clouds should not sit in a regional drawer. Whoever reads it will know who made it.”

Shi Feng set the cup down. His achievement would reach the headquarters under an elder's seal, Shi Feng thought. He disliked drawing that attention, but the Hall would save a great deal on fees for ten years.

“Done,” Li Changyuan said, before anyone else could speak. “Ten years, a tenth, records north. Write it, abacus girl.”

Sima Lan wrote it down and, for once, did not correct him. Shi Feng suspected that a column had been opened.

Outside, in the corridor, Li Changyuan stopped and held out his broom.

“Here,” Li Changyuan said.

Shi Feng took it. The smooth handle and thick bristles were almost new. Only one end was worn flat.

“What is this?” Shi Feng asked, turning the handle over.

“A slightly better broom,” Li Changyuan said. “Don't sweep with it. It's a reward.”

“For what?” Shi Feng asked. He hadn't swept anything.

“For asking for a number,” Li Changyuan said. He walked off down the corridor, humming, with his hands behind his back. “I had to wait forty years for a disciple to do that.”

Sima Lan looked at the broom, then at Shi Feng.

“I'll list it under gifts,” Sima Lan said. “Value, two coppers.”

“Three,” Shi Feng said.

“Don't haggle with me. I'm on your side,” Sima Lan said, giving him an annoyed look.

Through the corridor window, the whole of Qingyun City glowed in the sunset. Somewhere below, the crowd was still counting.