Chapter 576 — Absence, Billed

CHAPTER 576

Absence, Billed

“Couriers and customs,” Li Changyuan said. “Luoxia. Lantern Festival night. Anything beyond Soul Formation. Shattering Void, if the old books are honest.”

The Sky Pavilion’s Qingyun tower had a receiving room on its third floor, with a carpet thicker than Artificer Hall’s whole roof. Li Changyuan sat on the edge of his chair with his broom across his knees. He had refused the cushion.

The clerk across the table was young and very polite. He poured tea, bowed, and wrote the request down in a beautiful hand.

“Honoured Sect Master, the courier logs for the festival are already bound,” the clerk said. “Please allow me a moment.”

He went upstairs and came back holding nothing.

“May I ask whether the Sect Master has any idea who...” the clerk asked.

“Grey sleeves,” Li Changyuan said.

“The Pavilion does not trade with that house,” the clerk said at once.

Then he heard himself, and his face went white.

Li Changyuan put his cup down.

“I didn’t name a house,” Li Changyuan said.

The clerk bowed deeply. He’d recognised the sleeves; both men knew it. Nothing more would be offered.

“Honoured guest, please forgive this one’s clumsiness,” the clerk said. “The Pavilion has no record it can offer. More tea?”

Li Changyuan looked at him for a long time. Then he stood, picked up his broom and walked out without drinking.

Old Bian had brought his sugar pole to Qingyun for the spring fair. He was eating noodles at a cart below the tower steps when he saw the broom and nearly choked.

“Sect Master Li! The young man’s sect!” Old Bian said, wiping his mouth. “Any word?”

“No,” Li Changyuan said.

“I’ve been thinking about that night, Sect Master,” Old Bian said, lowering his voice. “I told the young lady one grey sleeve. It wasn’t one. It was two or three, standing by the wall like clerks waiting for a boat. Nobody walking. Just standing.” He shook his head. “Heaven has eyes. Somebody will pay.”

Li Changyuan paid for Old Bian’s noodles without haggling. The old man had given him more than the Pavilion.

Halfway down the steps, he stopped.

Lin Langtian was coming up, whistling, with a packed bag on his shoulder and a straw hat on his head.

“Sect Master!” Lin Langtian said brightly. “What luck! I was just going to tell you I’m off to gather herbs in the north. For about a year.”

“You’re going to sit,” Li Changyuan said.

“Old man, don’t be like that. Yours Truly has his own legs...” Lin Langtian began.

Li Changyuan took the bag off his shoulder and opened it on the step.

“Pot,” Li Changyuan said, setting it down. “The sect’s. Loaned.”

“That’s my pot!” Lin Langtian protested.

“Sect kitchen. Fifth shelf,” Li Changyuan said. “Rope. Loaned. Charcoal. Loaned. Two hundred spirit stones. Sect treasury, loaned.” He held up a small cloth pouch. “Sweet potatoes. Loaned.”

“I bought those with my own money!” Lin Langtian cried.

“From the sect’s garden,” Li Changyuan said.

“…” Lin Langtian said.

Li Changyuan put everything back in his own sleeve, item by item, until only the empty bag was left. He folded it neatly and tucked it under his arm.

“And the bag?” Lin Langtian asked.

“Collateral,” Li Changyuan said.

Lin Langtian’s grin vanished. His master knew exactly why he wanted to leave.

“He’s my junior brother, old man,” Lin Langtian said quietly.

“And you’re my disciple,” Li Changyuan said. “Someone folded the sky over Luoxia, and the Pavilion’s clerk just told me who without meaning to. You go north alone, they fold you too.” He started down the steps. “An impatient man can’t eat hot tofu. Sit.”

Lin Langtian sighed loudly for the street’s benefit, then followed his master home. Beneath the complaints, he’d accepted the warning.

Sima Lan opened the stall at Artificer Hall’s gate at its usual hour and ran it alone.

She sold four bottles before noon, refused a customer who tried to haggle, and wrote it all down in her crisp, square hand. At the right edge of the page there was a new column. She had ruled it herself, very straight.

Absence (billed).

Each day had one line in it. Each line had the same figure: one day’s attendant wage, payable on return.

Zhu Liu sat at the small desk behind her. Above it, pinned to the board with two tacks, hung a receipt for the Luoxia trip. Every line was filled in, and the space for the signature was empty.

“Miss Sima,” Zhu Liu said nervously. “Shouldn’t I file that? An unsigned receipt is...”

“Leave it where it is,” Sima Lan said, without looking up.

Zhu Liu left it where it was.

Gongsun Ce came down the lane at the hour when the shade reached the counter. He was holding his betting slip folded between two fingers.

“Attendant Sima. I’ve come to settle,” Gongsun Ce said. “Before the trip, I bet he’d come back with less than he left with. Strictly speaking, he hasn’t come back with anything. So strictly speaking, I’ve won.”

“Strictly speaking, you have,” Sima Lan said.

“Then I’m not collecting,” Gongsun Ce said, and put the slip back in his robe. “A bet on a man who hasn’t come back is not a bet. It’s a wake, and I don’t bet on wakes.”

“The stake stays open, then,” Sima Lan said.

“A gentleman’s word, once spoken, can’t be pulled back by four horses,” Gongsun Ce said. “Open until he walks up this lane and pays me himself.”

Sima Lan dipped her brush and wrote one more line in the ledger.

Gongsun Ce: stake held. Open.

Sima Lan left both entries open. There was no total beneath the stake or the absence column. She meant to present them to Shi Feng herself, not close his account while his stool still waited behind her.

Behind the counter stood the stool Shi Feng always used. In a month, nobody had sat on it, and Sima Lan dusted it every morning.