Chapter 564 — Four Clouds

CHAPTER 564

Four Clouds

On the fourth day, the men in grey walked him past Ji Yuanhe’s arch and down a short ramp into the heat.

Hall Two was a low cave with twelve furnaces in two rows. At its far end, a thin clerk counted pills into a tray and entered each number in his ledger. He never hurried or paused. Shi Feng listened to the count while the guards led him through the heat.

A big bald man stomped over, with a belly as round as a wine jar and iron tongs on his belt. This was Kong Ba, Overseer of Hall Two.

“So this is the frontier boy!” Kong Ba boomed. “In here I’m your father, your mother and your ancestors. Got it?”

“Y-yes, Overseer Kong,” Shi Feng said, and lowered his head.

A country boy after four days in a dark cell was expected to shake. So he shook, just slightly.

“Receiver Ning said he was a genius, and look, he’s shaking like a wet chick!” Kong Ba said, laughing. “Good. The ones who shake last longer than the ones who glare.”

He kicked the stool at the last furnace in the left row. From it, Shi Feng could see Ji Yuanhe’s blue flame through the arch, twenty paces west.

“Station nine. Yours,” Kong Ba said. “Don’t touch anything that isn’t on your tray.”

“What happens if I do?” Shi Feng asked timidly.

“Courting death!” Kong Ba said cheerfully. “Nobody’s done it twice.”

Every man in the hall sat up straighter as Ning Zhe came down the ramp and flicked his chair open beside station nine.

“Good morning, Alchemist Shi,” Ning Zhe said pleasantly. “Your quota is simple. Six furnaces of Soul Formation-grade pills every lamp-cycle. Half must succeed.” He nodded at a board on the far wall. “A pass is four clouds, which is what you raised at your 3 Mark sitting. I’m not asking for anything you haven’t done in front of a whole hall.”

He’s using my own record as a ruler, Shi Feng thought.

Ning Zhe would call fewer than three passes defiance. More than three, or a fifth cloud, would give him a reason to demand more. Shi Feng needed to reach the public record exactly. If he appeared to struggle just enough to meet quota, they might stop searching for what he could really do.

Exactly three pills at exactly four clouds. That was the safe number.

Shi Feng nearly laughed. Of all the numbers in the world, they’d picked the one he could hit in his sleep.

Lin Langtian once told him not to let a buyer see how much more he could give. Shi Feng hadn’t expected to use that lesson here. These men weren’t buying anything; they owned the furnace, the herbs and the door out. He still had to hide his surplus.

“And the other three furnaces?” Shi Feng asked, wringing his hands.

“Fail them if you must,” Ning Zhe said, making a note. “But do understand me, Alchemist Shi. Everything here is counted. Without rules, nothing comes out square or round.”

“Fifty-two,” Clerk Shu said at the far table. “Fifty-three.”

Ning Zhe folded his chair and left. A porter set down six portions of herbs. The first was fifty-year thousand-fold marrow root. On the frontier, one stalk would buy a shop.

Shi Feng lit his fire.

The tongs slipped out of his fingers.

They hit the stone with a clang that rang down the hall. He scrambled after them with a pale face and opened the lid a breath too late. The batch sank into a grey lump of slag.

“Ha! There it is!” Kong Ba shouted. “Every new boy drops the tongs once!”

“S-sorry, Overseer Kong!” Shi Feng said, bowing over the furnace.

Shi Feng kept his head lowered to hide his satisfaction. That failure had needed care. Truly losing control would have cracked the lid and risked questions. He’d scorched only the part a nervous novice would ruin, leaving a mistake Kong Ba was happy to recognise.

The second furnace, he did properly. The pill rose above the lid and white clouds gathered over it. One. Two. Three. Four. A fifth began to form, thin as a breath, and he let the fire drop half a beat early. It melted away.

“Station nine. Four. Pass,” Clerk Shu said, without looking up.

Between furnaces, Shi Feng read the board.

UNDER FOUR CLOUDS: SLAG. FOUR CLOUDS: PASS. FIVE AND ABOVE: RATIONS, BY GRADE.

Below it ran two columns of rations, Nascent Soul-grade on the left and Soul Formation-grade on the right. Every number on the right was about three times bigger.

He failed the third by letting the flame jump when Clerk Shu’s count hit a hundred. The fourth passed at four. He drowned the fifth, apologising. The sixth passed at four clouds, so evenly that he almost felt proud.

It was the hardest he’d ever worked at being average.

Kong Ba came over, looked at the three pills in the dish, and clapped so hard it echoed.

“The boy can cook!” Kong Ba roared. “First day, and he makes quota! Even a blind cat stumbles on a dead mouse, eh, Shu?”

“Three. Pass. Quota met,” Clerk Shu said.

“Th-thank you, Overseer Kong,” Shi Feng stammered. “I was so nervous. I’ll try harder tomorrow.”

“Don’t try harder. Try the same!” Kong Ba said, slapping his back so hard he nearly fell off the stool. “The same is what Receiver Ning likes.”

Shi Feng bowed, pleased that the performance had worked. Three failures and a dropped pair of tongs had persuaded Kong Ba that he understood the new prisoner. It wasn’t safety yet. But each mistaken judgment gave Shi Feng more room to work without being watched closely.

Across the arch, Ji Yuanhe’s tray glowed pale gold. Row after row of Perfect pills, eight clouds each. Nascent Soul-grade.

He compared the board’s rates and felt sick. Even a five-cloud Minor Success pill from station nine would earn more than Ji Yuanhe’s Perfect work. The old man was making the finest Nascent Soul-grade pills his 2 Mark allowed. Nothing he did could overcome the grade they’d assigned him.

They weren’t using Ji Yuanhe to make money. They were using him up.

“Four hundred and thirteen,” Ji Yuanhe said to his flame.

The lamp-stone dimmed. At the top of the ramp, Ning Zhe was waiting with his folder open.

“A good first day, Alchemist Shi,” Ning Zhe said pleasantly. “Before you go back, hold out your arms. We need to turn out your sleeves.”