Chapter 537 — A Sweet Potato for the Road

CHAPTER 537

A Sweet Potato for the Road

Chalk squeaked on the wall outside hut nine.

Sima Lan stood in the thin morning frost with her sleeve rolled back, drawing one last line under the rows of tally marks. Old Soot sat on her shoulder and watched each movement of the chalk, its throat pulsing whenever a crumb fell.

“Is that the closing line?” Shi Feng asked.

“It's the last one before the trip,” Sima Lan said. She kept the chalk against the wall, pleased with how straight the line was. “Below it I'm writing the days we'll be away. Thirty at most. Failures during travel will be counted in my head and added when we return.”

“And if there aren't any?” Shi Feng asked, leaning around her to inspect the new line.

“Then I'll be very surprised,” Sima Lan said, and snapped the chalk in half. She handed him the shorter piece. “Charged to your account.”

He pocketed it. Behind them the lane was already full of outer-court disciples pretending to be on errands.

The carriage waited at the main gate with two grey horses stamping in the cold. It was a plain covered thing hired in Duanyang City. The driver, a broad man named Wan Hu, kept asking whether the sect paid by the day or by the li.

“By the receipt,” Zhu Liu said.

He stood at the carriage step holding a brush and a sheet of Pavilion paper.

Trip receipt. Senior Brother Shi, outbound: received in good condition. Return condition: to be inspected.

“Why inspected?” Shi Feng asked.

“Because last time I wrote ‘not inspected’, Senior Brother,” Zhu Liu said. “And it caused problems.”

“It caused a hut,” Sima Lan said.

Shi Feng signed. Zhu Liu dried the ink and folded the receipt, holding it out in both hands. He looked worried.

“Senior Brother,” Zhu Liu said. “Please come back with the receipt. The Treasury is very strict.”

Gongsun Ce, Third Prince of Great Song, leaned against the gatepost with a small puppet tucked under his arm. He was clearly enjoying himself. He lifted the puppet so it could face the departing carriage too.

“He'll come back with less,” Gongsun Ce said.

“Less what?” Sima Lan asked.

“Less than he took,” Gongsun Ce said. “Same stake as last time. Usual currency. A man goes home to his family, and his family finds out he's famous. When a man is poor in the busy market, no one asks after him; when he is rich in the deep mountains, distant kin come calling. They'll leave him with nothing but his robe.”

“Accepted,” Shi Feng said.

“You didn't even ask the odds,” Gongsun Ce said.

“You'll tell me when you lose,” Shi Feng said.

On the wall above them Wu Qiang whispered to Qiu Bao that it was the greatest wager since the Ashen Lake. Qiu Bao whispered back that nobody knew what the currency was.

“Maybe it's a kiss,” a voice muttered from the crowd.

“Maybe it's a kidney.”

“Shut up, he can hear us.”

“…”

Ling Qingzhu stepped down from the carriage before he reached it.

She wore her violet inner robe under a green Valley cloak, and her white veil was tied behind her ears. She didn't wait for him to greet her. She walked straight up and stopped one pace away.

“You're late,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“The sun's barely up,” Shi Feng said.

“The Valley gave me twenty-eight days of leave,” Ling Qingzhu said. “I counted the road to Qingshi, the road to the capital, and the road back. There isn't a single day to waste.” She raised a small cream envelope between two fingers. “My father's letter. It's very proper. It uses the word ‘son-in-law’ four times.”

“I'll carry it,” Shi Feng said.

Ling Qingzhu hesitated with the letter still between her fingers. Then she pushed it into his hand, embarrassed by the pause.

“It's only a letter,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Don't make that face.”

“I'm not making a face,” Shi Feng said.

“You're making your usual face,” Ling Qingzhu said. “I just don't like it this early.”

Behind her, Sima Lan loaded the last bag and said nothing at all.

The outer-court crowd parted without being asked.

Lin Langtian came through it at a run, sweet-potato leaves trailing from his sleeve, his chief-disciple robe half buttoned. He skidded to a stop on the frost and nearly fell over.

“Junior Brother!” Lin Langtian shouted. “Senior Brother can't come!”

“I know,” Shi Feng said.

“The Treasury froze my travel allowance over a misunderstanding about fourteen sacks of herbs!” Lin Langtian said loudly, so that all of Thousand Forge Peak could hear it. “And Elder Qian Mo has put my name on the gate duty roll for a month! It's slander! A man of my talent, standing at a gate!”

“You signed the roll,” Qian Mo said from the gate tower, without looking up from his abacus.

“Under duress!” Lin Langtian said.

He turned back and pushed something warm into Shi Feng's hand. It was a roasted sweet potato wrapped in oiled paper. Still hot.

“For the road,” Lin Langtian said. “A Lin Langtian original. Sending a goose feather from a thousand li away, the gift is light but the feeling is heavy! It's worth more than your family's whole gift table. Do not trade it.”

“I wasn't going to,” Shi Feng said.

“And don't eat it unless you need to,” Lin Langtian said. “I mean it. Wait until you're really hungry.”

Shi Feng looked at the potato, then at him.

Lin Langtian stopped grinning. He checked that the oiled paper covered the potato before releasing it. Lin Langtian lowered his voice so that only Shi Feng could hear.

“Walk in slowly, Junior Brother,” Lin Langtian said. “A man only comes home like a stranger once. Look at it properly.”

Then he stepped back, spread his arms, and shouted that he would personally bill anyone who made the Chief Disciple's Junior Brother cry.

Shi Feng put the potato in his sleeve beside the chalk.

The carriage door closed. Wan Hu clicked his tongue, and the grey horses started down the mountain road. Zhu Liu was still waving the receipt book behind them.

Shi Feng had every intention of eating the potato before they reached the border.