Chapter 612 — Drafts Home

CHAPTER 612

Drafts Home

“Through the Pavilion,” Tao Xiaoyu said the next morning, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Everyone knows that. You pay at any branch, and the branch where it’s going pays them out. They don’t need to know where you are. They only need to know where you’re sending it.”

So at noon Shi Feng stood at the Sky Pavilion’s counter, with Tao Xiaoyu beside him carrying the Book.

The Wanhe grand branch had a hall of black stone and white jade, and its counters ran the length of a city street. Clerk Rao Yingchun recognised him at once and bowed.

“Master Feng. Welcome, honoured guest,” Rao Yingchun said. “How may this branch serve you today?”

“Two drafts,” Shi Feng said. “To the frontier. Great Liang, the Artificer Hall.”

Rao Yingchun took out two blank forms and a brush. Behind them, a silk-robed alchemist in the queue leaned over to look.

“The frontier,” the silk-robed alchemist said loudly to his friend. “A 3 Mark sending money back to the mud. How touching.”

Rao Yingchun didn’t look at him. She only smiled at Shi Feng.

“The first draft, honoured guest?” Rao Yingchun asked.

“Four thousand stones to the Artificer Hall, attention of the Sect Master,” Shi Feng said. “Write it as a bill. ‘Hut nine. Rent. Months absent.’”

Rao Yingchun’s brush paused for half a breath. Then she wrote it exactly.

“And the second?” Rao Yingchun asked.

“To an attendant of the same hall. Sima Lan,” Shi Feng said, counting the months on his fingers. “Her back wage, five months. At three percent a month interest, compounded. She’ll check the arithmetic, so please check it too.”

Rao Yingchun did the sum on an abacus. She did it twice. Then she wrote it down and turned the form around for Shi Feng to read.

“Forgive the question, honoured guest,” Rao Yingchun said politely. “Are these payments, or apologies?”

“Bills,” Shi Feng said. “They’re the same thing.”

Rao Yingchun bowed slightly, as if that were a perfectly reasonable answer, and stamped both forms.

The Hall had housed and fed him for years. Lin Langtian covered his debts without asking him to repay them. Shi Feng missed their noise. These payments would tell them he was alive without exposing his address.

“There’s one more thing,” Shi Feng said.

He took two small slips of paper from his sleeve. There was no address on either one, no name and no letter. He’d written one line on each, and nothing else.

“These go inside the Artificer Hall envelope,” Shi Feng said. “Not on their own.”

Rao Yingchun didn’t ask to read them. A clerk of the Sky Pavilion never did. She only held the envelope open.

Shi Feng put them in one at a time.

The first said: Item twelve. Candied hawthorn, three sticks. Paid.

The second said: Ginger, persimmon, paid.

The Hall’s runner would know where to carry them. The first would go to Ling Qingzhu, wherever she was now. The second would go through the Hall’s own post to an aunt who’d shout at the paper for a full hour before she put it under her pillow.

“A letter from home is worth ten thousand in gold,” Rao Yingchun said quietly, sealing the envelope with the branch’s wax.

Shi Feng looked at the sealed envelope and said nothing at all.

Tao Xiaoyu had been reading upside down the entire time. She’d kept quiet in front of the clerk. But as soon as they stepped out of the hall into the sunlight, she tugged his sleeve.

“Master Feng,” Tao Xiaoyu said. “Who’s Item twelve?”

“Someone who keeps accounts better than I do,” Shi Feng said.

“That’s not an answer!” Tao Xiaoyu protested.

“It’s the only one you’re getting,” Shi Feng said. “Write it in the Book. ‘Question, unanswered. No charge.’”

“Then is it a girl?” Tao Xiaoyu demanded, puffing up her cheeks.

“Xiaoyu, you’ve got a commission page to finish,” Shi Feng said.

“It’s a girl,” Tao Xiaoyu declared, and marched ahead of him down the steps, very pleased with herself.

Shi Feng let her go. He looked south for a moment, toward a sky he couldn’t see past the city’s roofs.

Three sticks. She’d said it was an itinerary. He’d never finished paying for that day, and he didn’t like leaving a bill open.

The silk-robed alchemist emerged behind them, still sneering about the frontier. Shi Feng only gave him a cheerful bow. He didn't care enough about the man's opinion to argue, which made the sneer turn to irritation.

“Master Feng! Honoured guest, a moment!” Rao Yingchun called.

Rao Yingchun had come down the steps after them, which a clerk of the grand branch almost never did. She was holding a folded card with a red corner.

“Forgive me,” Rao Yingchun said, a little out of breath. “The branch has a client who asked to be told when a shop in Wanhe would take a Soul Formation-grade set. He’s an old general. He’s been waiting two years.”

She held out the card.

“His aide asks,” Rao Yingchun added, “whether you could start tomorrow.”