Chapter 650 — Nine and No More

CHAPTER 650

Nine and No More

“Eight,” Tao Xiaoyu said.

This time the stands said it with her. Hundreds of voices, ragged at first, then together.

“Nine!”

The ninth cloud spread over the Zhuo table, white and full. Under it, the furnace lid hummed with a low, heavy note, and the pill inside pushed upward against the iron as if it wanted to climb into the sky.

Shi Feng kept two fingers on the lid and held it down.

Above the ninth cloud, a tenth was already gathering. It was thin and grey at the edges, and the grey was getting darker.

He knew exactly what came after that grey. He’d seen it over Lamp-Oil Lane in early winter, when the lightning walked down and took three tiles off Tao Erniang’s roof. The Contest’s rule was painted on the gatepost in red: a pill that calls a tribulation over the stands is disqualified. Too many people had died at too many contests for the Old Houses to allow it.

If I let it fall, I lose the prize and half the front row, Shi Feng thought. If I hold it, I keep both. That’s not a hard sum.

He had to stop the tenth cloud before it finished forming. His fingers stayed firm on the lid as he lowered the fire.

He pressed the Thousand Forge fire down under the pill, a fold cooler than the one he’d used on the lane, and pushed the tenth cloud back into the furnace. It struggled like a fish under his palm. The lid rattled once.

Then the grey faded, and the tenth cloud sank and didn’t come back.

Nine clouds hung over the table, white and still.

“Nine,” Tao Xiaoyu said, quietly this time, and lowered her counting board.

The square was silent.

“Nine clouds,” someone said in the stands. “That’s... that’s Perfect.”

“It’s not just Perfect. Listen to the lid! That’s a 4 Mark-grade pill!”

“From a basket of frost-bitten leftovers?”

“He was eating noodles!”

“…”

Shi Feng lifted the lid. The pill sat in the bottom of the furnace, round and dark gold, and the low hum filled the air around the table. He took it out with jade tweezers and set it on the judges’ tray.

The three judges weighed it twice. The eldest, a white-bearded master of the Du House, put the tray down very slowly.

“Perfect,” the Du House master said. “Four Mark-grade. Nine clouds.” He looked at the frost-bruised stems still lying in the basket and shook his head. “Three days apart, and you look at a man with new eyes.” Then he stared at the basket again. “Frost-bitten leftovers. I still don’t believe it.”

The contest ran its full three days, because the rules said so. It didn’t matter.

The Du House champion had nothing left after his lid blew. The Azure Sun alchemist’s four clouds held, but four was Minor Success, and the judges wrote it down without looking at him. Two smaller houses finished at five and six clouds and bowed out early.

On the evening of the third day, the clerk at the board chalked the final tally. The house points went to the highest pill, and only the highest.

ZHUO HOUSE: ALL. EVERY OTHER TABLE: NONE.

The Zhuo apprentices threw their caps in the air. Zhuo Tingsong stood up in the front row, stroked his beard and didn’t hide his smile at all.

“A long road tests a horse’s strength,” Zhuo Tingsong said to the hall at large, watching the Azure Sun table. “This old man said it would hold, and nobody listened.”

The purse came first, then the prize herb under its glass, then the stakes. Every house had put up stakes on its proxy, and the losers’ stakes went to the winner. Tao Xiaoyu counted them twice on the Zhuo table and wrote the sum on her board.

“About seven million,” Tao Xiaoyu said. Her voice shook a little. “Master Feng, that’s about seven million.”

“Write about,” Shi Feng said, taking the heavy purse from her before she dropped it. “We’ll count the rest at home. Check that they’ve packed the prize herb safely.”

He was turning to leave the dais when someone stepped in front of him.

It was the old man with the gold sun on his cuff. Up close, Elder Fei Lun’s face was pleasant and lined, and his eyes were not pleasant at all. The small book was in his hand again.

“A fine pill,” Fei Lun said. “A very fine pill. And a fine basket, young man. The Azure Sun branch would like to remember the name properly. What did you write on the register?”

So you’re the one who swapped my root, Shi Feng thought. Or the one who knows who did. Either way, you want my name for that little book.

“Feng Shi,” Shi Feng said politely. “Lamp-Oil Lane.”

Fei Lun wrote it down. He didn’t write anything else.

“Lamp-Oil Lane,” Fei Lun said, closing the book. “I’ll remember.”

He bowed an inch and walked away into the crowd.

Shi Feng watched Fei Lun disappear into the crowd. The elder had watched the other houses lose without getting involved himself. Shi Feng did not trust that pleasant voice, but he wanted to hear what the man would ask for next.

At the bottom of the dais steps, Zhuo Heng was standing alone, away from the cheering apprentices.

A young man in a crimson Azure Sun robe was just leaving his side. In Zhuo Heng’s hand was a letter sealed with a gold sun, already open.

Shi Feng hadn’t even reached the last step yet.