Chapter 474 — A Formation Worth Royalties

CHAPTER 474

A Formation Worth Royalties

The pill jar was ordinary green glaze with a cracked lid. Zhu Liu held it out in both hands, looking worried about what might be inside.

“A hunter brought it to the stall this morning,” Zhu Liu said. “He said, ‘Returned. Wrong pills.’ Then he left before I could ask which pills.”

“Bo Ge?” Shi Feng asked.

“No, Senior Brother Shi,” Zhu Liu replied. “A stranger with a scar on his chin. He even paid in advance for the return.”

“Open it,” Sima Lan said.

She sat propped against the wall of hut nine, still in her grey blanket, with her slate on her knee. The morning light fell across her face, and the colour had started coming back. She looked healthier, although she was still too proud to discuss her recovery.

Zhu Liu tipped the jar. Out slid a roll of cheap paper, no bigger than a finger.

“Read it,” Shi Feng said.

Zhu Liu cleared his throat and unrolled it.

“‘Council sat three nights,’” Zhu Liu read. “‘The ones who ran from your gate have sworn on their cores. Coffins that walk. Puppets that turn their heads. A fire-spirit that breathes in the dark. Elder Qu Jiang says it is a Nascent Soul formation, hidden in your sect for sixty years. The council believes him.’”

He swallowed.

“‘The Master's look at your gate was ordered after Elder Wei's core cracked,’” Zhu Liu continued reading. “‘It was turned back at the steps. The Master has said nothing. The council says the formation did it. They have written to the Sky Pavilion to ask for arbitration, instead of sending more people. Disgraceful. D.Y.’”

Nobody spoke.

“A Nascent Soul formation,” Zhu Liu whispered. “Senior Brother Shi, we have an iron coffin with my sleeping mat in it.”

“Fifth case from the left,” Shi Feng said. “Your mat's very good.”

“It's a hundred and nine stones' worth of terror,” Sima Lan said, writing. “I have the costs. Candles, lamp oil, and the coffins' hinges.”

The door banged open.

“Is this where they pay royalties?” Gongsun Ce demanded from the doorway.

He stood in the doorway in his grey robe, with cooling wax on one cuff looking hopeful. He'd clearly heard the letter being read. Behind him, in the lane, three puppets stood in a row, because he'd forgotten to tell them to stop following him.

“No one's paying anyone,” Sima Lan said.

“The letter says a formation,” Gongsun Ce said, entering anyway. “It says puppets that turn their heads. I built those. Sixty puppets, silent joints, cooling wax from my own pot. They were half the formation, Shi Feng. The most visible half.”

“You rented them,” Shi Feng said. “For one night.”

“At a ledger discount,” Gongsun Ce said. “I know. I remember the discount. But I did not agree to be the foundation of a legend for the price of a discount. I want ten percent.”

“Of what?” Shi Feng asked, wondering how long he'd waited outside.

“Of the legend,” Gongsun Ce declared. “My puppets made it possible.”

“The legend has no income,” Sima Lan said.

“The legend has a reputation,” Gongsun Ce said. “Reputation is a deposit. I am prepared to take it in instalments.”

“Your royalties were paid in the discount,” Sima Lan said. “I have the receipt.”

“The discount was for the rental,” Gongsun Ce protested.

“Then the legend is a free sample,” Sima Lan said.

Gongsun Ce opened his mouth, closed it and sat down on the floor.

On the roof, something crunched. A potato peel fell past the window.

“Junior Brother,” Lin Langtian called down, cheerfully. “Lesson. Never correct a rumour that's working for you.”

“Are we letting them believe it?” Shi Feng asked.

“Deny nothing,” Lin Langtian said. “Admit nothing. If a man asks, ask him how much he'd like it to be. Let him name the number. Then raise it.”

“You sound pleased with the rumour too,” Shi Feng called up to Lin Langtian.

“Of course I am!” Lin Langtian replied. “They've frightened themselves. Every blade of grass and every tree looks like a soldier to them. Why should we do more work?”

Gongsun Ce lifted his head from his knees.

“The Palace does not frighten easily,” Gongsun Ce said. His voice was quieter than before. “If their council believes it, it is because the survivors are afraid enough to be believed. I watched the faces afterwards. They were the faces of men who had seen something that was not in their books.”

“They saw a coffin,” Shi Feng said.

“They saw whatever they feared,” Gongsun Ce said. “It is the better trick. You cannot be accused of a lie the other man told himself.”

Sima Lan stopped writing. She looked at Gongsun Ce, then at Shi Feng, beginning to understand why the Palace wanted arbitration.

“If the Palace believes in a formation,” Sima Lan said slowly, “it won't send another raid. It will send a clerk.”

“A clerk is worse,” Zhu Liu said.

“A clerk,” Sima Lan said, “can be billed.”

Shi Feng looked at the roll of cheap paper in Zhu Liu's hand. Duan Yichen had written it small and steady, and without a single flourish. He'd have sat down in some narrow room inside the Palace, with a lamp, and a council sitting three doors away, and written Disgraceful at the end like a man signing his name.

“Zhu Liu,” Shi Feng said. “File that under ‘friends’. Burn the jar.”

“Which friend?” Zhu Liu said.

“The one who signs it Disgraceful,” Shi Feng said.

Outside, the iron bell at the gate rang three times, slow and formal, the way it rang for visitors who wore white.

Sima Lan's chalk snapped.

“Pavilion,” Sima Lan said.