Chapter 549 — The Invoice

CHAPTER 549

The Invoice

Lu Sen read the notice standing on an upturned crate, because the inn's gate was still lying on the flagstones and nobody had found him a better platform.

“By order of the court,” Lu Sen read. His voice cracked on the first line, and he started again. “The household of the royal consort acted without the sanction of the throne. Steward Fu Yuan is dismissed and held for questioning. Elders Sima Jue, Sima Tao and Sima Ning are confined to the ancestral hall for one season. The royal house regrets any disturbance caused to a disciple of Artificer Hall, to the son-in-law of the Ling clan, and to the Inn of Yonghe.”

The courtyard was packed. Half the neighbourhood had come to look at the burned porch post.

“Before breakfast,” someone whispered.

“Of course the throne never knew.”

Lu Sen lowered the paper. He was a Qi Condensation clerk, and he clearly regretted being sent. He kept his eyes on the notice rather than the watching neighbours. He drew a heavy purse from his sleeve with both hands.

“Her Highness's stipend,” Lu Sen said, bowing to Sima Lan. “Eighteen months' arrears. Eleven thousand, one hundred stones. The palace asks that she accept it, and that the monthly sum continue.”

Sima Lan stood beside Shi Feng with her hands folded. She looked at the purse for exactly one breath.

“Clerk Lu,” Sima Lan said. “Is the notice you read part of the public record?”

“It's pasted on every ward board, Your Highness,” Lu Sen said.

“Then write this under it,” Sima Lan said, taking the brush from his belt and holding it out. “Sima Lan, outer disciple of Artificer Hall, renounces the royal stipend, the household guard and the princess's allowance. From the day she left the palace until the day she dies. The court may keep every stone.”

Silence.

“I earn my own keep now,” Sima Lan said. “I'll send the invoice.”

“Invoice for what, Your Highness?” Lu Sen whispered.

“The gate. The post. Forty-five stones, plus handling,” Sima Lan said, pushing the brush into his hand. “To the consort's household. Please be exact.”

Lu Sen wrote it down with trembling fingers.

“Eleven thousand stones,” a woman said faintly from the stairs. “She won't bow for five dou of rice, that one.”

“...”

Shi Feng thought, She hasn't looked at me once. She's making sure I know she isn't doing this for me.

Then a carriage rolled into the lane.

It bore the royal crest, and nobody on the street needed it explained. The curtain lifted, and Crown Prince Sima Yu stepped down, supported by a young guard.

Shi Feng remembered a golden prince in brilliant robes. This was a thin man in a pale robe. He placed his feet carefully and leaned on the guard when he left the carriage step. The late Foundation Establishment aura he'd once flaunted had cracked. His smile was the same, soft and courteous. He maintained it with effort, even when his hand shook against the guard's arm.

“Little Sister,” Sima Yu said.

“Elder Brother,” Sima Lan said.

“Champion Shi,” Sima Yu said, turning toward him. “The household overstepped, and I came to apologise myself. A house can lose track of its own servants. A family's shame must not be aired abroad. Old matters weigh on everyone, I think. Perhaps they might be allowed to sleep.”

“They're asleep,” Shi Feng said. “Don't wake them.”

The smile stayed fixed. It was the only part of Sima Yu that did.

The guard beside him was Hu Fan, the prince's old bodyguard, early Foundation Establishment. He stepped forward, red in the face.

“Champion Shi,” Hu Fan said. “A man of honour, one who never asks anything in return, surely wouldn't stand between a sister and her brother's roof?”

Shi Feng looked at him.

Sima Lan lifted her chin.

“The champion who never asks for anything in return?” Sima Lan said, clear enough to carry to the lane.

Hu Fan blinked. Somebody at the back of the crowd began to laugh. Then someone else joined.

“She's quoting the tea house!”

“Old Mao's story! The nine-foot champion!”

“Ten percent!”

“It's accurate!”

“Mostly,” Shi Feng said.

The courtyard roared. Hu Fan wished the ground would swallow him. Sima Yu's hand twitched at his sleeve, once, and then he drew himself up and bowed with perfect grace, as a prince should.

“Sister's humour has changed,” Sima Yu said.

“My prices have,” Sima Lan said.

“The roof remains open to you, whatever you decide,” Sima Yu said.

“I know where the roof is, Elder Brother. I grew up under it,” Sima Lan said.

Sima Yu walked back to his carriage. He did not look at Shi Feng again.

Shi Feng watched him leave without moving from the courtyard. Sima Yu couldn't threaten him now, and the prince seemed to know it.

That night, the lamp in the inn's upper room burned late.

Sima Lan sat at the low table over the ledger, her sleeves pushed back. She'd written the invoice twice.

Shi Feng sat on the bed. It was cold.

“Sima Lan,” Shi Feng said.

“Yes?” Sima Lan asked.

“It's cold in here. Will you warm my bed?” Shi Feng said.

Sima Lan calmly turned a page, then lifted one eyebrow and left it raised. She neither blushed nor moved from her chair.

Shi Feng waited.

Shi Feng finally said, “Noted.” The eyebrow stayed raised.

“Item,” Sima Lan said, and went on writing.

A quick, bright knock came at the door. Shi Feng rose to answer it while Sima Lan kept her place in the ledger. Hongxiu stood in the corridor, Ling Qingzhu's maid, with a folded slip of green paper and an expression of enormous innocence.

“From Madam,” Hongxiu said. “Noon tomorrow. Qingliu Lane, Number Seven.”

Shi Feng unfolded it.

The pear tree is bare. Wear something warm. Come by yourself. Don't bring an invoice.

He read it twice. Behind him, Sima Lan's brush did not stop.

“And Lady Sima isn't invited,” Hongxiu added, in a whisper.

“I wasn't going,” Sima Lan said, without looking up. Her eyebrow was still raised.