Chapter 536 — Now the World's Looking

CHAPTER 536

Now the World's Looking

By the time Shi Feng came downstairs, the common room of Kang Liu's inn was on its third version of the story.

“I heard he refined it with one hand,” a carter said.

“Two hands. The other hand held a bun.”

“Late Golden Core can't make Soul Formation pills!”

“Then he's an old monster in a young body! They do that!”

“The list says age twenty-one. Where does it say Nascent Soul?”

“It doesn't say anything. That's how you know.”

“…”

Kang Liu stood behind his counter, sorting cups into rows. He had seen Shi Feng come down the stairs, and he did not look up.

“Water,” Kang Liu said. He set a cup on the counter. “I remember.”

“Thank you,” Shi Feng said.

“Forty-one people asked me today whether you eat here,” Kang Liu said. “I said cold buns from the cart outside. Thirty-nine left. Two bought buns.” He lined up another cup. “You're good for trade, young master. Please don't improve any more this week. I only have nine rooms.”

The Pavilion's board in the square had gained its last name an hour ago. Shi Feng, 21, 3 Mark. It gave a name, an age and a Mark, and nothing else, which was why they argued. Every version of the rumour agreed he was a late Golden Core. None agreed on anything more.

Sima Lan found him at the foot of the stairs with a small bundle of letters.

“Eleven Pavilion runners left the tower with the list by noon,” Sima Lan said. “Four went north. One Valley sword arrived at the second bell. I've sorted the letters by cost.”

“By cost?” Shi Feng asked, reaching for the top envelope.

“Courier fee due,” Sima Lan said. “One letter owed nine coppers. I paid it. It's on the account.” She held up a thick grey envelope tied with brown string. “It's from Qingshi.”

He recognised the handwriting.

Brat, the letter began. This is your aunt. I am writing before the year-end test, because Shi Rong keeps asking whether you will come, and I am tired of saying I don't know. Shi Zhen has been telling everyone he raised you. I told him who held the bowl. I do not want to hear what you eat. You will eat what I put in front of you when you arrive. The courtyard has been swept. I swept it. Do not make me say this twice. Come home. Y.

A last line followed in smaller characters.

I have heard you are a 2 Mark now. Meng Shou says it is a number you should not boast about. Be careful of the clan. Be careful of everyone.

He read it twice.

“She doesn't know about today yet,” Sima Lan said, watching his face.

“She will,” Shi Feng said.

“Qingshi will have it in six days. The merchants take the road,” Sima Lan said. She waited while he read the last line again. “You've been reading for three minutes. It has twelve lines.”

“I'm reading it slowly,” Shi Feng said.

He folded the letter along its creases and put it inside his robe. Sima Lan held out the second envelope, cream, sealed with green wax.

My father writes to the Valley every year at this time, Ling Qingzhu had written, in her quick, slanting hand. This year he has written to ask for you. The Ling clan would like its son-in-law at the year-end feast. I told him you would come, because you owe me twenty months of replies. I was very sure. I hate being wrong in writing. Q.

Under that, in smaller writing, as an afterthought:

Su Wanning says she will scream when you pass, and has been practising. I have asked her to stop.

Shi Feng read it once, and the corner of his mouth moved.

“Well?” Sima Lan asked.

“We're going home,” Shi Feng said.

“Qingshi first, then the capital?” Sima Lan asked, checking the road on her slate.

“Yes,” Shi Feng said. He put the cream envelope beside his aunt's letter.

“Then I'll need to hire a carriage,” Sima Lan said, writing it on her slate.

Lin Langtian was lying on the inn's roof tiles with his hands behind his head, looking at the sky.

The sun had gone behind the roofs. A pale line of cloud hung over the northern road, where six Pavilion couriers' lanterns were still moving away, tiny and steady. Shi Feng climbed up and sat beside him without a word.

“You didn't take the fifth cloud,” Lin Langtian said.

“No,” Shi Feng said, resting his hands on his knees.

“I saw it,” Lin Langtian said, his usual teasing gone. “Half this city didn't. I did. You held it back with a finger.”

“Someone told me to be slow,” Shi Feng said.

“Good advice,” Lin Langtian said. “And it's too late.” He rolled onto his side and looked at the lanterns on the road. “The list is already moving. Every tower, every sect, every teahouse between here and the sea. Now the world's looking, Junior Brother. Fame brings trouble as a fat pig fears the butcher.”

Shi Feng watched the north road.

The lanterns were small now. Past them, somewhere beyond the dark hills and the river, was the road the jade lotus carriage had taken on a rainy dusk, back when he had stood in a village with a ruined face and asked for a name. Nangong Xiuyi. The voice had said it so easily.

Now his own name was travelling that road without him.

If it reaches her, he thought. If she reads the list. Would she remember a cripple she saved?

Shi Feng stopped himself there. A list couldn't tell him whether she remembered him.

“Thinking about a girl?” Lin Langtian asked.

“A voice,” Shi Feng said.

“Worse,” Lin Langtian said, pushing a warm potato into his hand. “Eat.”

Shi Feng ate. Far below them, the lamps of Qingyun City came on one by one, and the list crossed its first river in the dark. It didn't stop at the second.