Chapter 616 — Four Hundred Each

CHAPTER 616

Four Hundred Each

“You have surplus,” Branch Master Cen Rong said. It wasn’t a question.

Her office was on the branch’s top floor, with one window over the river and an abacus on the desk that she never once looked at. She had sent for him at dawn, and she didn’t waste the morning on tea.

“A little, Branch Master,” Shi Feng said.

“Perfect pills,” Cen Rong said. “In a noodle lane. In a jar under your counter.”

“Under the floor,” Shi Feng corrected her politely. “The counter is the first place a thief looks.”

“And the floor is the second,” Cen Rong said. “Consign them through the branch, Master Feng, before someone consigns you. The commoner is innocent. It’s carrying the jade that makes him guilty.”

Shi Feng thought about it. A Perfect pill sold from a noodle lane drew thieves. A Perfect pill sold on Pavilion paper drew buyers, and nobody robbed a man for a receipt.

“The branch’s fee?” Shi Feng asked.

“A tenth,” Cen Rong said.

“The Pavilion’s name for a tenth,” Shi Feng said, smiling. “That’s cheap. I’ll take it before you notice.”

Cen Rong’s mouth moved slightly. It might’ve been a smile.

“Appraisal is on the ground floor,” Cen Rong said. “Appraiser Pang will see you.”

The appraisal hall was cool and smelled of camphor. A head-high lacquer screen stood at the back, and behind it rose a tall cabinet of small drawers. While Shi Feng waited, a junior went behind the screen to fetch a weighing spoon. The third drawer on the left stuck halfway and gave a thin squeak, and the junior had to jiggle it shut.

Shi Feng remembered the drawer and its sound. In the Pit, noticing small details like that helped him work out what people were doing behind closed doors.

Appraiser Pang Qi came out smiling. He was round and pink, with a green jade thumb ring and a welcoming voice.

“Master Feng! The famous noodle-lane alchemist!” Pang Qi said. “What have you brought this humble appraiser?”

Leaning against a pillar, arms folded, was Zhuo Heng. He nodded to Pang Qi like an old drinking friend, giving Shi Feng a look of open dislike.

“Noodle-lane Perfect pills,” Zhuo Heng sneered. “This I have to see.”

Shi Feng set a jade bottle on the table. Inside were twelve Nascent Soul-grade pills from last week’s furnace, eight clouds each.

“Twelve, Appraiser Pang,” Shi Feng said. “I think they’re good.”

“Every boy thinks his own pills are good,” Pang Qi said kindly, picking up the bottle. “Appraisal is done in private, honoured guest. Pavilion custom. Please wait.”

He went behind the screen.

Shi Feng waited, and listened. The weighing spoon clinked. A cloth rustled. Then, very faintly, the third drawer on the left gave its thin squeak. A moment later it squeaked again.

Shi Feng’s eyebrows went up.

Pang Qi came back with the bottle and a sorry face.

“Common,” Pang Qi said, shaking his head. “Three clouds, perhaps. The fire was uneven. I can offer four hundred each.”

Zhuo Heng laughed out loud.

Shi Feng uncorked the bottle and sniffed. His own pills carried his own fire. The Thousand Forge Flame Art burned clean, and its pills smelled faintly of hot iron. These twelve smelled of cheap charcoal and somebody else’s hurry.

So that’s the game, Shi Feng thought. Swap good pills for cheap ones, and pay for the cheap ones. In the Sky Pavilion’s own hall, on a sunny morning, with a 3 Mark watching for fun.

Shi Feng kept his anger hidden. Pang Qi had swapped the pills in a Pavilion office, where every consignment needed a written record. That record could prove what he'd done.

“Four hundred?” Shi Feng said, and let his face light up like a bumpkin’s. “Each? Appraiser Pang, that’s more than I hoped for! Back on the frontier, Common pills went for half that.”

“The Pavilion pays fairly,” Pang Qi said, pleased.

“Could you write the figure down for me?” Shi Feng asked, scratching his head. “So I don’t forget it on the way home. And stamp it? My aunt always says paper without a stamp is just paper.”

Zhuo Heng snorted.

Pang Qi chuckled and wrote it out. Consigned by Feng Shi: twelve pills, in this bottle, appraised Common, four hundred each, total four thousand eight hundred. He pressed his appraiser’s seal under it in red.

“Sign here, honoured guest,” Pang Qi said.

Shi Feng signed his alias and wrote, in large careful characters, Accepted.

“Frame it,” Zhuo Heng said. “It’s the best paper you’ll ever own.”

“I will, Young Master Zhuo,” Shi Feng said warmly. “Thank you for the advice.”

He folded the receipt into his sleeve, picked up the bottle of charcoal-scented pills and bowed his way out of the hall. Behind him, Pang Qi and Zhuo Heng exchanged a look. Shi Feng didn’t need to see it to know what it said.

Now he couldn't change his account of the appraisal, Shi Feng thought. His seal and Shi Feng’s acceptance fixed exactly what he'd claimed to examine.

He didn’t go to the door. He crossed the lobby to the long front counter, where Clerk Rao Yingchun was writing out the morning’s tickets.

“Clerk Rao,” Shi Feng said pleasantly. “How does a man file a consignment dispute?”

Rao Yingchun’s brush stopped in the middle of a character.

Upstairs, Branch Master Cen Rong’s door was still open.