Chapter 543 — One Move, Then the Books

CHAPTER 543

One Move, Then the Books

“Cousin,” Shi Hong said again, drawing his sword. “You've had a lot of luck. A tournament, a list, a few fancy titles. But I'm the best the Shi Clan has produced in a generation! Peak Foundation Establishment at twenty-three! Four years of the best medicines, four years of—”

“Of mine,” Shi Feng said.

Shi Hong's face flushed dark red. “Cripple! You think you can stand there and—” Shi Hong shouted, raising his sword.

He charged.

The courtyard went silent. The branch heads who hadn't yet left pressed themselves against the walls. Shi Hong's blade came down in a bright, fast arc, a real Foundation Establishment sword art, the best of what the clan could teach. It was a good strike. Shi Feng gave it that much.

He stepped once to the left.

Then he lifted two fingers and touched the flat of the blade.

That was all. A small pulse of qi, held at the level of a late Golden Core, ran through the steel. The sword left Shi Hong's hand as if he had never held it, spun twice in the air and buried itself in the courtyard wall up to the guard. Shi Hong's arm went numb to the shoulder. He sat down on the stones, hard, and stared at his empty palm.

“That's—” somebody whispered.

“One move.”

“He didn't even draw. Shi Hong had eyes and failed to see Mount Tai!”

“Peak Foundation Establishment, and he flicked it away like a fly…”

“…”

Shi Hong didn't get up. His mouth opened and closed without a sound.

“You ate four years of my restoratives,” Shi Feng said. “That realm is the interest. Keep it.”

He walked past him without another look.

The records room of the Shi Clan was a low stone chamber that smelled of ink and old paper. Shi Rong sat at the long table. Treasurer Du Cheng sat beside him, clutching his abacus with both hands. Four boxes of ledgers lay in front of them, and Shi Zhen stood at the end of the table in his purple robe, sweating through the silk.

“These are only the, the household expenses,” Shi Zhen said. “Ordinary matters. I don't see why my nephew must…”

“You offered,” Shi Feng said. “Last night, in front of sixty people. ‘Every stone. Every bowl.’”

Ling Qingzhu sat in the corner with her tea. Sima Lan stood by the door. Neither had been asked to come, and nobody had dared tell them to leave.

Shi Feng opened the first box and read for a quarter of an hour. Nobody spoke. Du Cheng's abacus clicked softly, then stopped.

“Entry,” Shi Feng said, turning a page. “Third month, three years ago. Received from the Great Liang court, in honour of the tournament champion's upbringing: three thousand spirit stones and a plaque.”

“The plaque is in the hall,” Shi Rong said.

“The stones?” Shi Feng asked.

“Four hundred went to the clan treasury,” Du Cheng said, in a thin voice. “It's in my book.”

“And the other two thousand six hundred?” Shi Feng asked.

Nobody answered.

“Second Elder's discretionary account,” Shi Feng read. “Entry, ‘tempering expenses’. Monthly, for thirty-four months. The stipend for the tempering of Shi Feng.” He turned another page. “I left Qingshi Town four years ago. I haven't been back until now. I'd like to know who was being tempered.”

“Nephew, it was, it was a general fund for…” Shi Zhen stammered. He looked to Shi Rong, but the Clan Head kept his eyes on the open book.

“Next entry,” Shi Feng said. “‘Training medicines for Shi Hong, two thousand one hundred stones.’ Another entry, ‘Second Elder's hall, new roof and gold-leaf eaves.’ Another, ‘Governor's jade cup, sold for appraisal, three hundred stones. Loss in transit.’”

“The jade cup,” Du Cheng whispered. “The county governor's gift to the eastern courtyard.”

“The cup that came when I had two hundred and thirty-seven meridians,” Shi Feng said. “It was addressed to me. The clan sold it.”

Du Cheng looked down at his own signature on every page, and his hands began to shake. “I countersigned it,” Du Cheng said. “I signed it without reading, Clan Head. For three years.”

“Then read next time,” Shi Feng said.

“Yes, Young Master. Yes,” Du Cheng said.

Shi Rong was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was very tired and quite steady.

“Shi Zhen. Is it true?” Shi Rong asked.

“Brother, I—the clan, it was all for the clan—” Shi Zhen pleaded, spreading his hands.

“Is it true?” Shi Rong repeated.

Shi Zhen's mouth moved. Nothing came out.

“Then the seat of Second Elder is vacated from today,” Shi Rong said. “The sum of two thousand six hundred, and the jade cup's three hundred, will be returned to the treasury by the end of the year. Du Cheng will countersign nothing without reading it first. And Shi Zhen may go home and think about what he tempered.”

Shi Zhen walked out with his head bowed and his shoulders sagging. He looked twenty years older. Nobody offered to accompany him. When a wall is falling, everyone pushes it, as the saying goes.

“The money is not mine,” Shi Feng said, closing the ledger. “I don't want it. Put it toward the eastern courtyard allowance. A household shouldn't lose its medical allowance because its child can't pass a test.”

“Who keeps it?” Shi Rong asked.

“Ask my aunt,” Shi Feng said.

He found her in the corridor, leaning against the wall with a basket of laundry on her hip, pretending she was passing by. She had clearly been listening at the door.

“Brat,” Shi Yulan said, not looking at him. “That was a lot of reading.”

“It's all written down,” Shi Feng said.

“Hmph,” Shi Yulan muttered, shifting the basket. Then, lower, so quickly that he almost missed it: “Tonight. The eastern courtyard. Come alone.”