Chapter 545 — A Debt Booked

CHAPTER 545

A Debt Booked

Shi Yulan took the allowance box from Treasurer Du Cheng at dawn, and she did it the way she did everything: loudly.

“Give it here,” Shi Yulan said. “And what is this? This is not a column. This is a spill.”

“Madam Shi, the old system—” Du Cheng began.

“The old system starved a child,” Shi Yulan said. She opened the box, counted the stones with her thumb and snapped it shut. “From today, no household in this clan loses its medical allowance for any test of any kind. Not for a trial, not for a debt, not for a bad harvest. Write it down. Clan Head's seal. I'll wait.”

Shi Rong, standing at the end of the hall in his sleeping robe, stamped the order without a word.

Shi Feng watched from the doorway with Sima Lan at his shoulder. She read over Du Cheng's arm, checked an entry against the line above, and pointed at the error with her brush.

“Line seven is wrong,” Sima Lan said.

Shi Yulan swung around. “Who are you?” Shi Yulan demanded.

“His attendant,” Sima Lan said. “The restorative column double-counts the second quarter. It owes the eastern courtyard forty stones.”

Shi Yulan grabbed the sheet, ran a finger down the column, and her lips thinned. “Du Cheng,” Shi Yulan said.

“Madam…” Du Cheng said.

“Forty stones,” Shi Yulan said.

“Right away, Madam!” Du Cheng said.

“That one can stay,” Shi Yulan told Shi Feng. “She's got a head on her. I don't care if she's a princess.”

“Thank you,” Sima Lan said, trying to keep a straight face. She was embarrassed by the blunt praise, but clearly pleased as well.

The cracked blue jar came out after breakfast.

It sat on the table in the eastern courtyard, the same jar that had held the receipts the day she saved him from the audit. Shi Yulan tipped it over and a flood of old paper slid out, brown at the edges, tied in bundles with red cord.

“Sit,” Shi Yulan said. “We're doing this properly.”

“Auntie…” Shi Feng began.

“Physician's deposit, one hundred and fifty stones. Fever pellets, eleven. Boots, cloth, belt, thread,” Shi Yulan said. She slapped each bundle down in turn. “Seven years of your meals, which I paid, because the Second Elder wouldn't. Rice. Salt. Candles. A cracked bowl, replaced twice.”

Shi Feng took out his ring and began to count out stones. She slapped his hand away.

“Don't you dare. I'm not an inn,” Shi Yulan said. She pushed the paper into a heap and tied it up again with quick fingers. “All paid. I'm closing the account. It was never a debt. I only said it was because you'd have refused to take it otherwise.”

“I know,” Shi Feng said.

Shi Yulan stared at him. “You know,” Shi Yulan repeated, letting go of the cord.

“I've known since the first night,” Shi Feng said.

“…Then why did you keep paying it back?” Shi Yulan asked.

“Because you wrote it down,” Shi Feng said. “You never wrote down anything you didn't mean.”

For a long moment Shi Yulan said nothing. Then she picked up the jar and put it on the shelf, hard enough to make the bowls rattle.

“Brat,” Shi Yulan said, to the wall.

They left at noon.

The carriage waited at the courtyard gate. Du Cheng had delivered forty stones and a basket of oranges. Shi Hong had sent nothing, which Shi Feng considered an improvement. Ling Qingzhu was already inside, and Sima Lan was checking the luggage straps for the third time.

Shi Yulan stood at the gate with her arms folded.

She'd put on the brown dress again. She had a small cloth bag in one hand, and she didn't offer it until the last moment.

“Dried ginger,” Shi Yulan said, thrusting it at Ling Qingzhu through the curtain. “Dried persimmon. Make him eat them.”

“I'll try,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“Don't try. Make,” Shi Yulan said.

“Yes, Auntie,” Ling Qingzhu said.

Shi Yulan snorted, and her eyes went back to Shi Feng. He stood in front of her. He was a head taller. She did not look up at him; she looked at his collar and straightened it.

“Three nights' lodging,” Shi Yulan said. “Nine meals. One wasted day of my life, listening at a door.”

“I'll pay it,” Shi Feng said.

“You can't pay it. It's not that kind,” Shi Yulan said. Her hand dropped. “It's a debt. I'm booking it. You'll come back and settle it in person, at this gate. Falling leaves return to their roots. And you'll bring that wife of yours so I can give her a proper scolding. That's the interest.”

“I'll come back,” Shi Feng said.

“Don't make promises,” Shi Yulan said.

“It's not a promise,” Shi Feng said.

“Then what is it?” Shi Yulan asked.

“A debt,” Shi Feng said. “I keep those.”

Shi Yulan looked close to tears. She turned sharply and waved him toward the carriage, unwilling to let him see her cry again.

“Go,” Shi Yulan said. “Before I think of more things to say.”

He got into the carriage. The wheels creaked. He looked back once through the window and saw her already walking away down the lane, quickly, with her back very straight and one hand raised to her face.

Inside, Ling Qingzhu looked at his sleeve, where his fingers had settled on something small and hard.

“What's that?” Ling Qingzhu asked. She saw how tightly he held it and added before he could answer: “You don't have to tell me.”

He opened his hand. The hairpin lay in his palm, dark and cool, its three crescents catching the light.

Sima Lan leaned over it and went still.

“I know the mark of every smith between the capital and the border,” Sima Lan said slowly. “The royal workshops, the Zhao guild, the Moon Lake jewellers. Nobody in Great Liang made this.”

The carriage rolled on toward the capital. Nobody spoke for a while.