Chapter 551 — The Road Out

CHAPTER 551

The Road Out

“Eleven names,” Ling Rong said, “became four. Then three. This morning, none.”

He was walking beside the carriage at the Ling clan's outer gate, holding a list he no longer needed. Shi Feng read it over his shoulder. It was the same list from long ago, relatives who wanted introductions and favours. Every line was crossed out in the same neat stroke.

“What happened?” Shi Feng asked.

“They remembered a Great Sect doesn't answer to a clan,” Ling Rong said. “And a cousin of a core disciple doesn't ask for things. A cousin of a core disciple is asked.”

“Sensible,” Shi Feng said.

“It took them long enough,” Ling Rong said.

The gate court was crowded. Ling servants stood in rows with travel cases. A huge hamper sat on the cart, stuffed with sweet cakes, dried fruit and wine. Ling Jian was supervising it eager to prove useful now that the clan had welcomed its son-in-law.

“Brother-in-law Shi! The wine is twenty years old,” Ling Jian called. “Think of it as adding flowers to brocade! Eat the cakes first, before the road shakes them! And please, if the Hall has any cheap ore, this humble cousin would only—”

“Ling Jian,” Ling Zhen said.

Ling Jian shut his mouth.

The elders who had once favoured the Crown Prince's match were absent. A note had come from the long-bearded one that morning, pleading a cold. Three other seats were empty. The Ling clan's pro-match faction had not been dissolved by any decree. Nobody had ordered it. There was nothing to refuse. It simply had nothing left to say, because the clan's daughter was married to a core disciple of Artificer Hall, and nobody in Great Liang would press a claim on that.

Shi Feng understood it perfectly. It was the same politics as always. This time it ran in his direction.

Ling Shufeng came last, leaning on a cane with a dragon's head. The clan stood aside for her.

“Boy,” Ling Shufeng said. “Walk with an old woman.”

They went a few steps along the wall. Behind them, Ling Qingzhu watched with her arms folded, pretending she didn't.

“I'm too old to lie,” Ling Shufeng said. “So I'll say it plainly. I'm glad it's you.”

“Elder,” Shi Feng said.

“She didn't sleep for three nights before you came. She told the maid it was the cold,” Ling Shufeng said, tapping her cane against the stone. “That child has been sharp since she could walk, and sharp things are lonely. She had half the kingdom courting her and not one person asking her how she was.”

“I asked,” Shi Feng said.

“You did?” Ling Shufeng asked.

“Under the pear tree. She answered,” Shi Feng said.

Ling Shufeng looked at him for a long moment. Her old eyes were very bright.

“Then take her where you're going,” Ling Shufeng said. “Don't leave her at a gate again. A woman can stand a long time at a gate. It teaches her nothing good.”

“I won't,” Shi Feng said.

“Good,” Ling Shufeng said, patting his arm before turning toward the carriage. “And eat.”

“Sitting down,” Shi Feng said.

“Mostly,” Ling Shufeng said, with a perfectly straight face, and Shi Feng found he had no reply.

Ling Zhen waited by the wheel.

He gave a short bow, his jaw set. It was the exact bow owed to a son-in-law of the house, no more and no less.

“If she is unhappy,” Ling Zhen said, “I will hear of it.”

“She'll tell you herself,” Shi Feng said.

“I know. That is why I will hear of it,” Ling Zhen said, clearing his throat. “The clan owes you nothing. I find that irritating.”

“Uncle!” Ling Qingzhu said.

“I am not speaking to you,” Ling Zhen said.

“You are standing next to me!” Ling Qingzhu said.

“Silence, child,” Ling Zhen said, though he was almost smiling. He bowed again, shorter, and walked away.

A cart creaked at the back of the line. Sima Lan sat on the luggage with her ledger case on her knees. Old Soot's soot-grey head poked out of her sleeve and sniffed at the dried fruit.

“No,” Sima Lan said to it.

It went back in.

“Everyone has given me something,” Ling Rong said, handing her a small packet. “For the road, Lady Sima. Sweet-bean cakes.”

“Receipted,” Sima Lan said, and wrote it down.

The gate opened. The cart horses shook their bells. Shi Feng helped Ling Qingzhu up into the carriage, and she settled her skirts with great dignity. He felt a hard lump in his sleeve, Lin Langtian's sweet potato, still uneaten, by now as dense as a stone. He climbed in after her.

The wheels began to roll.

The capital slid past in the pale light, its wall, its square, the high shape of the Sky Pavilion tower. Qingliu Lane was somewhere behind a hundred roofs. A key lay in Ling Qingzhu's sleeve. A pear tree stood bare in a swept yard, waiting for spring.

“Husband,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“Yes?” Shi Feng asked.

“You know the road home passes Luoxia City,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“I do,” Shi Feng said.

“I've heard they sell candied hawthorn by the river,” Ling Qingzhu said without looking at him. She was watching the window with great interest. “The good kind. Red as lanterns.”

“Is that a request?” Shi Feng asked.

“It's an itinerary,” Ling Qingzhu said.

He looked at the side of her face. Her ear had turned pink.

“I'll consider it,” Shi Feng said.

“That means yes,” Ling Qingzhu said, and tucked her feet up on the cushion.