Chapter 484 — Chalk Lines

CHAPTER 484

Chalk Lines

Forty sacks stood in the yard of hut nine, and Sima Lan was stabbing each of them with a weighing hook.

Shi Feng stopped at the gate. He had left for the furnace hall straight after the council and expected to come back to an empty yard. Instead the Valley's green-and-white banner leaned against his wall. Two Valley juniors sat on a sack each, looking as if they'd been told not to move. Lin Yue, the one with the blue sash, saw him and gave a small, desperate bow.

“Sack nine is two catties short,” Sima Lan said, without looking up. “Clause four. A shortfall is billed to the supplier.”

“Sack nine was packed in damp moss,” Ling Qingzhu said from the wall. “It was weighed wet at the Valley and dry here. Take it up with the moss.”

“Moss isn't a party to the pact,” Sima Lan said.

“Neither is your hook,” Ling Qingzhu said. “You've stabbed my cinnabar root.”

She stood with her back to the yard and her hands folded behind her, a white veil pushed up into her hair. She was reading the tally wall.

The wall ran along the side of the hut, a whole white-washed length of it, and every hand's width was covered in chalk. Sima Lan's small upright figures went on and on. Shi Feng had stopped looking at it months ago.

“One thousand, seven hundred and forty-two,” Ling Qingzhu read aloud, tapping the last column. “These are failed pills?”

“Pills,” Sima Lan said. “Not counting the ones he sneezed on.”

“Hinges, eleven stolen. The bell, once. The door,” Ling Qingzhu read, leaning closer. “You have a whole column for the door.”

“It was taken twice,” Sima Lan said.

Ling Qingzhu went on reading, line by line. Then she stopped at the small second wall at the end, where one neat line was struck through with a single stroke. The words underneath could still be read.

You were supposed to pass. Doesn't count.

Nobody spoke. Lin Yue found something interesting on his sandal.

“Who was supposed to pass?” Ling Qingzhu asked quietly.

“It's an accounting remark,” Sima Lan said.

“It's very neat handwriting for an accounting remark,” Ling Qingzhu observed, clearly amused.

“I write all my remarks neatly,” Sima Lan replied, refusing to look up.

Ling Qingzhu's mouth curved, only a little. She didn't look at Sima Lan. She looked at the struck-through line a moment longer, and Shi Feng noticed that her thumb was pressed against her sleeve.

Then she turned and saw him.

“You're late,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Your attendant has been very thorough. She's counted my sacks, my moss and my arrival.”

“Valley, third hour of the afternoon,” Sima Lan said. “Visitors are entered.”

“Am I a visitor?” Ling Qingzhu asked, watching Sima Lan's chalk.

“You are entered under the pact,” Sima Lan said.

Shi Feng thought, They're being polite to each other. That was worse than a quarrel.

“Mu Shuyun wanted it put into the hands of the Hall's own alchemist,” Ling Qingzhu said, “so none of it could vanish in the Treasury. Elder Qian Mo has already asked whether it can be booked as a loan to someone.”

“To whom?” Shi Feng asked.

“He didn't say. He just looked hopeful. A meat bun thrown at a dog never comes back, and I told him so,” Ling Qingzhu replied, picking up a stamped paper. “The Valley's copy needs his seal. I'll be back for yours.”

She went out through the gate with her chin up. The juniors scrambled after her.

By dusk, his feet ached from standing on the furnace floor.

Shi Feng sat on the edge of the bed with his boots off and the door open to the warm evening. A copper basin stood on the boards. Sima Lan knelt beside it with her sleeves pushed back, her left shoulder still held a little stiffly, and pressed her thumbs into his heel.

“Clause fourteen,” Sima Lan said. “Evening foot care after a day on the furnace floor. Two stones.”

“I didn't ask,” Shi Feng said.

“You were limping all the way back,” Sima Lan said, working her knuckles up his arch. “Be quiet. The water is the right heat.”

He was quiet. The ache in his arches loosened into something near sleep.

“Your door was open,” Ling Qingzhu said from the doorway.

Sima Lan's hands did not stop. Shi Feng looked up.

Ling Qingzhu stood on the step with the stamped paper in one hand. She looked at the basin, then at the feet in it, then at Sima Lan on her knees on the floor.

“Please continue,” Ling Qingzhu said. “I wouldn't want to interrupt attendant duties.”

“Clause fourteen,” Sima Lan said. “Two stones.”

“Two stones. A bargain,” Ling Qingzhu remarked, setting the paper neatly on the table. “The Valley's copy, with the seal. Sign where the red mark is. You'll have a free hand, I'm sure.”

“I have one,” Shi Feng said.

“I can see that,” Ling Qingzhu replied lightly, although her ears were pink. “I heard attendants carry furnaces. Nobody told me about the feet.”

“Nobody asked,” Sima Lan said.

Ling Qingzhu looked at her for a moment. Then she laughed softly and turned to the door.

On the step, she stopped without looking back.

“It's easy to ask that kind of question,” Ling Qingzhu said, “when you know she'll always walk out. I wonder what you'd do if she didn't.”

She went down the path. The juniors hurried after her. A few breaths later, the sound of a Valley sword rose and faded over the peak.

In the basin, Sima Lan's hands had gone quite still.

Shi Feng waited. She lifted his foot, wrapped it in the towel, and began on the other with great care.

“Left foot,” Sima Lan said.

She didn't speak again until the water had gone cool.

“Does the employer require his bed turned down tonight?” Sima Lan asked.

“As usual,” Shi Feng said.

“As usual,” Sima Lan repeated, quietly, considering Ling Qingzhu's parting words.