Chapter 573 — Line Forty-Two

CHAPTER 573

Line Forty-Two

The chair went down in the exact middle of the cell.

Ning Zhe unfolded it and sat, the folder across his knee. He looked rested and pleased.

“I walk the corridors at night, Alchemist Shi,” Ning Zhe said. “Bao Liang snores. I’ve docked him half a shift.”

That was his lamp, Shi Feng thought. Ning Zhe had been closer than he’d realised. The scrap pill was already in his stomach by then, and he’d cleaned the furnace. He could only hope the receiver had seen nothing worth recording.

“I... I didn’t notice, Receiver Ning,” Shi Feng said, sitting up too quickly on the shelf.

“I didn’t come about him. I came because I’m pleased with you,” Ning Zhe said. “A man who keeps his word is worth keeping. You told my guard you’d be ready, and you were. Appraiser Mei says you’re steady. Kong Ba says you’re lucky. Clerk Shu just says ‘three’ every cycle, never louder and never softer.” He smiled. “I find that restful.”

Shi Feng ducked his head as though grateful for praise. Inside, he was satisfied that the reports agreed. He’d worked hard to make them agree. But Ning Zhe’s pleasure was dangerous; this man examined anything that interested him.

Three reports, and not one of them says anything, Shi Feng thought. If being average paid wages, I’d be rich.

“And you eat your failures,” Ning Zhe added.

Shi Feng froze, the way a frightened boy would.

“The Overseer said to eat it, Receiver Ning,” Shi Feng stammered. “I thought it was an order.”

“It was a joke, and you took it as an order. I like that even more,” Ning Zhe said. “Plant melons, reap melons. A man who spoils the pill eats the pill, and most would cough blood after one. You’ve eaten dozens. A mouth that disposes of waste saves us a cart.”

He knows my body takes the waste, Shi Feng thought. He doesn’t know what it turns into.

“You asked Appraiser Mei for a copy of the catalogue,” Ning Zhe went on.

“Only once, Receiver Ning,” Shi Feng said. “I didn’t want to be greedy.”

“The house keeps its books,” Ning Zhe said. “But it lets the cooperative look.”

He held one page up between two fingers, an arm’s length from Shi Feng’s face.

“A hundred breaths,” Ning Zhe said.

Shi Feng read. It was the same neat, small hand as line sixty-one.

Thirty-three: the Slag Weight, will not answer to qi, three complaints. Thirty-four: Volume One, an old manual with notes in the margin. Thirty-five: the grey Sword. Thirty-six: receipts, one hundred and twelve. Thirty-seven: a folded diagram paper, old. His father’s. Thirty-eight: a blue cloak. Thirty-nine: a violet pouch, empty, stones to the division’s account.

Then the sleeves. Forty: left sleeve, a stub of chalk. Forty-one: left sleeve, a green paper, folded, written TERMS.

Forty-three: belt, a herb case of eleven compartments.

Forty-two was missing, with no crossed-out line or explanation. Shi Feng remembered exactly what he’d kept beside the green terms paper in his left sleeve: something thin, plain and worn smooth by years in another person’s hand. Ning Zhe had shown him everything around it.

His mother’s hairpin.

He didn’t let his eyes stop on the gap, because Ning Zhe wasn’t looking at the page. Ning Zhe was looking at him.

So that’s what the hundred breaths are for, Shi Feng thought. Not for me to read. For him to watch me read.

He let his face go a little homesick, the way a boy’s face goes when he sees his things on a list. A hundred breaths passed.

Ning Zhe lowered the page, slid it out of the folder and laid it on the shelf beside Shi Feng’s knee.

“Keep it until tomorrow,” Ning Zhe said. “Count your things at night, if it helps you sleep.”

The chair folded with a small click, and the bolt slid home behind him.

That night he ate the day’s three failures at the pit while Bao Liang complained about his half shift the whole way.

[Reservoir: 36%]

Back in his cell, Shi Feng memorised every line. The stones had gone to the division’s account. So they had records beyond this one page. He would need those too, when he could get them without asking Ning Zhe’s permission.

Then he returned to the gap. He was furious about the hairpin, but he wouldn’t give Ning Zhe the reaction he wanted. His mother’s possession mattered more than anything else on that page. That was precisely why he had to remain calm.

The chair unfolded in the same place the next morning.

“My page, Alchemist Shi,” Ning Zhe said.

Shi Feng held it out with both hands. Ning Zhe checked both sides and held it to the lamp-stone to look for pinholes.

“Not a mark,” Ning Zhe said approvingly, and held the folder a little closer to his chest than he needed to.

Shi Feng had decided last night that he’d ask once, and only once.

“Receiver Ning,” Shi Feng said plainly. “Is the list complete?”

Ning Zhe didn’t open the folder. His eyes went to the wall, to the place where the old sigil was carved behind the mat.

“A clerk’s error,” Ning Zhe said, not looking at him.

Ning Zhe’s thumb moved once along the folder’s edge.

Shi Feng asked nothing more.

He’s testing how far I’ll push, Shi Feng thought. Another question would confirm how much the hairpin matters. Stopping here would only tell Ning Zhe that he knew when to obey. He would let the receiver believe that for now.

Ning Zhe stood and tucked the chair under his arm. At the door he looked back and smiled.

“You’re settling in,” Ning Zhe said.

For once, Shi Feng didn’t stammer.

“The service is excellent, Receiver Ning,” Shi Feng said politely. “The food’s hot and the furnaces are clean. I’d only ask for a window.”

Ning Zhe laughed quietly, with real pleasure.

“A window. We’ll see,” Ning Zhe said. “Keep cooking your three, Alchemist Shi. Next time I come, I’ll bring you something better to cook.”

The door closed.

[Reservoir: 38% | Note: line forty-two. Asked once. Not again.]

Not again, Shi Feng thought. Next time, I won’t be asking.

Shi Feng remembered both missing entries: the hairpin and the potato. He could wait for them. Waiting wasn’t forgiveness, and it didn’t make either possession belong to the man who’d taken it.

Shi Feng remembered.

But it was the smile that stayed with him in the dark. He knew what to do with contempt and greed. Ning Zhe’s smile had no cruelty in it at all. It was the smile of a man looking at something he owned and finding it in good condition.

That was worse.