Chapter 493 — Her Share

CHAPTER 493

Her Share

“Eighteen stones,” Sima Lan said, “for a bowl of noodles.”

She stood at the edge of the camp with her slate in one hand and a wooden bowl in the other. Behind her the whole valley below the Ruin's cliff glittered with fires, thousands of them, spread across the slopes to the foot of the cliff.

“Is it good?” Shi Feng asked.

“It is a bowl of noodles,” Sima Lan said. “Two days ago they cost three.”

The region had flooded in five days. Hunters, small sects from beyond the border and wandering cultivators had all come. Fish and dragons mingled on every slope. Silk tents with sun crests stood in a ring on the best ground, guarded by azure juniors who looked at nobody. Stalls sold maps. Every map showed a different gate.

The Artificer Hall camp sat in the south corner, downwind, as usual. One cart. One ox, Gray Ear. A fire built from sticks Qian Mo had counted twice. And on the cart's tailgate, in his old brown robe, Li Changyuan sat selling cabbages.

“Nine times the Duanyang price,” Qian Mo said, staring at the coins in his hands. “The servants of the Legendary Empire paid nine times for cabbage.”

“Heaven keeps books too,” Li Changyuan said. “They'll balance.”

Qian Mo wept quietly into the abacus.

Shi Feng sat by the fire with the grey Sword across his knees. The Ledger had been quiet for two days. Core: 85%. The ginseng's heavy intake had settled in his dantian, but he could still feel its lingering power.

Footsteps came through the grass. He knew them before he saw her.

“Is this the Artificer Hall fire?” Ling Qingzhu asked. “It's very small.”

She stood at the edge of the light in a green cloak with her white veil folded back. Her hands were behind her, and her thumb, which he could see from where he sat, pressed hard into her palm.

“It's the right size,” Shi Feng said.

“Then I'll sit,” Ling Qingzhu said, without waiting for an invitation.

She took the far log, an arm's length away, and looked at the fire instead of at him. For a while she said nothing at all.

Sima Lan appeared at her shoulder.

“Firewood is three stones a guest,” Sima Lan said. “It is posted.” She pointed her chalk at a stick with a number on it.

Ling Qingzhu looked at the stick. She looked at Sima Lan. Then she counted three stones out of her sleeve and set them on the slate with a small, firm click.

“Thank you,” Sima Lan said. “Valley. Three.” She underlined it and left.

“She underlined it,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“She underlines everything,” Shi Feng said.

“Say it! Big Sis, say the other thing!” Su Wanning whispered loudly from behind a nearby tent.

“Wanning,” Ling Qingzhu said, without turning her head. The tent flap trembled and went still.

She didn't mention the Empire's carriages. She didn't mention the torn pact or the old man or the gate that had thrown a Nascent Soul guide onto his backside. She didn't tell him to be careful either. Shi Feng could see her concern, although she was determined not to say it directly.

“I hear you borrow things,” Ling Qingzhu said at last.

“Who says so?” Shi Feng asked, looking at her.

“The Palace,” Ling Qingzhu replied, tilting her head. “Three treasuries lighter, and every thief left a thank-you note. I don't ask who. I only say that if you happen to ‘borrow’ something in there, I'd like my share.”

“Why would I borrow?” Shi Feng asked calmly.

“Because you're you,” Ling Qingzhu said. She said it a little too fast. “And because the Valley has a claim on anything you pick up while wearing our salve.”

She brought a small jade jar from behind her back and set it on the log between them.

“That's the deposit,” Ling Qingzhu said, tapping the jar. “Return it in good condition. Preferably full.”

Shi Feng picked it up. It was warm from her sleeve.

“Sixty percent,” Shi Feng said.

“Ten,” Ling Qingzhu countered, refusing his first offer.

“Fifty,” Shi Feng replied, turning the jar in his hand.

“Forty,” Ling Qingzhu said. “And you carry me out of any corridor I'm stuck in.”

“That wasn't in the first offer,” Shi Feng pointed out.

“It's in the second,” Ling Qingzhu replied. “You answered too slowly, and silence is a yes. I've heard it's your rule.”

He looked at her. The fire popped. Her mouth wasn't smiling, but a line had appeared at one corner of it.

“Forty,” Shi Feng said.

“Good,” Ling Qingzhu said, standing and shaking out her cloak. “Don't be late tomorrow.”

She walked into the dark a little too quickly. The tent flap burst open and Su Wanning raced after her.

“He said forty! You got forty! Big Sis, you don't even know what's in there, why forty—” Su Wanning cried, racing after her.

“It's an excellent number,” Ling Qingzhu replied as they disappeared into the dark.

Near midnight, Shi Feng walked to the seal.

It stood at the foot of the cliff, a plain stone gate half-sunk in the rock, with a silver line cut across the ground a few paces before it. Pavilion wardens stood on either side with lanterns. A grey-bearded cultivator had tried the line at dusk and now sat on the grass twelve paces back, looking very surprised.

Lin Langtian sat on a rock just outside the line, alone, with a basket of sweet potatoes in his lap. He wasn't eating. He was looking at the gate.

“Junior Brother,” Lin Langtian said. His voice was quiet.

Shi Feng stopped beside him. The wardens' lanterns swayed.

“In my experience,” Lin Langtian said slowly, “a door that sorts its guests has already decided what it wants to keep.” He turned a potato over in his hands. “That's what the old books say, anyway.”

Then he laughed loudly, and the quiet went out of his face as if it had never been there.

“Here,” Lin Langtian said, and tossed him a potato. It was still warm. “For inside. Don't eat it near anything that glows.”

“Why not?” Shi Feng asked, catching the warm potato.

“Because it'll want a share,” Lin Langtian said. “And Junior Brother? If something in there is kind to you, count your fingers.”