Chapter 652 — Two Shoulders

CHAPTER 652

Two Shoulders

The carriage with the gold sun on its door got halfway down Lamp-Oil Lane. Then a second turned in behind it, and a third, and the lane was only wide enough for one and a half.

The first belonged to the Azure Sun Sect’s branch hall. The second, plain grey with a sword hanging from its yoke, was the Cangming Sword Palace’s. The third was a black-lacquer palanquin on the shoulders of eight bearers, and everybody on the lane knew it belonged to Steward Tan Shou.

None of them would back up.

“Commissions first,” Shi Feng called from the counter, his ribs still bound from yesterday. “Visitors queue on the left. Today’s queue is full.”

Somebody on the lane dropped a bowl.

Shi Feng had a good reason, and he was enjoying it. Three offers on one morning would push each other’s price up. A man who opened his door at once only heard the first price. Senior Brother would have locked the door and sold tickets.

The Azure Sun curtain lifted. A grey-bearded elder with a small book looked out. It was Elder Fei Lun, who had written Shi Feng’s name in it at the Contest.

“Then we will wait, Master Feng,” Fei Lun said pleasantly.

“Waiting’s free until noon,” Shi Feng said cheerfully. “After that it’s by the hour.”

Tao Erniang was already out from behind her pot. She inspected the three carriages, delighted by the rich customers blocking her lane.

“Great elders can’t wait on their feet!” Tao Erniang shouted. “Sit, sit! The board seats twelve!” She rubbed out the number on her price board and chalked a bigger one. “Waiting price!”

“Ma, that’s three times the morning price,” Tao Xiaoyu said from behind the Commission Book.

“The morning’s over,” Tao Erniang said. “Raise the sail when the wind comes!”

So a Sword Palace emissary, an Azure Sun elder and the City Lord’s steward sat in a row at a noodle board on Lamp-Oil Lane, paying triple, while porters with chits walked past them into the shop. By sunset all three had left cards, and Tao Erniang had counted her coins twice and had to sit down.

That night the shutters were down. Shi Feng sat cross-legged by the back furnace with the Contest’s prize on a plate: a late Soul Formation herb, a pale root with seven white leaves.

A proper cultivator would have spent a month refining it. Shi Feng snapped off the leaves and ate the root raw.

“…One,” Ji Yuanhe said beside him. “Two.”

The herb’s qi went down hot and heavy. The Physique took every bit of it and poured it into his soul, a river since Soul Formation. Its banks moved outward and its bed sank deeper. He kept his qi sealed, and next door Tao Erniang snored.

The best breakthroughs are the ones nobody hears, Shi Feng thought. If Wanhe hears a man break through, it starts asking what he’ll be next year.

On Ji Yuanhe’s three hundred and eighth count, the stage gave way without a sound.

Late Soul Formation.

“Three hundred and nine,” Ji Yuanhe said, and looked at him.

“Late Soul Formation, Old Ji,” Shi Feng whispered. “Don’t tell anyone. You’re very expensive to bribe.”

“…Three hundred and ten,” Ji Yuanhe said firmly, resuming his count instead of making a promise aloud.

Fei Lun came back first, alone, before the porters were up. He sat on the customer’s stool as if it were a sect chair and laid his small book on the counter.

“A crane among chickens, Master Feng,” Fei Lun said. “This old man will be brief. One million two hundred thousand stones a year. A furnace room in our Tianjing hall, with sect herbs. One condition. No Mark you ever sit, and no pill you ever sell, goes under any banner but ours.”

Tao Xiaoyu’s brush stopped in the air. That was more than the Du House earned in a year.

Shi Feng sighed, and he meant it. He could almost smell that furnace.

“That’s a beautiful furnace,” Shi Feng said sadly. “I’m going to say no, and I’ll tell you why so you don’t think I’m rude. That counts as a consultation, Elder Fei. Twenty thousand.”

Fei Lun’s beard twitched. “Go on,” Fei Lun said.

“First, the Mark would belong to your hall,” Shi Feng said. “Second, you’d set the price of my work. Third, I’ll run my own shop. I won’t spend the rest of my life asking your hall for permission.”

Fei Lun studied him, then laid a note for twenty thousand on the counter.

“A young man who refuses Azure Sun may find the canals cold,” Fei Lun said, still pleasant. “Our main hall will remember your refusal.”

At the door he stopped. The grey carriage and the black palanquin had arrived.

Xu Canglan of the Cangming Sword Palace was lean and quiet, with a sword on his back and calluses on both hands. He didn’t sit.

“A guest seat in the Palace,” Xu Canglan said. “And the Sword-Heart Art.”

“The City Lord offers the title of Wanhe Court Alchemist,” Tan Shou said quickly, bowing. “A post, a seal, and eight hundred thousand a year.”

“The Palace adds a refined artifact of your choosing,” Xu Canglan said.

“The City Lord adds a house on Tower Street,” Tan Shou said.

Shi Feng leaned on the counter, cracking sunflower seeds, delighted. Each offer made the other visitor raise his price. Shi Feng let them compete, delighted that neither wanted to stop first. Both men were red in the face when they finally ran out of offers.

Tao Xiaoyu tore three slips from the Commission Book and handed them over. Waiting fee, one afternoon and one morning.

“I’m grateful to all three of you,” Shi Feng said, and his voice was warm. “But I have a lane.”

The three men looked at each other. Then they paid, bowed politely and withdrew.

At the back table of the noodle stall, Ao Tong of Thunder Abyss Valley set down his chopsticks.

The story of the three carriages brought in so many commissions that within a week the Book read 8,000,000. On the seventh morning a porter came running up the lane with a letter in gilt paper, sealed with the Azure Sun.

It was a challenge, addressed to Feng Shi. Tao Xiaoyu read the signature out loud.

“Huo Zhiyan,” Tao Xiaoyu said.

The lane looked at each other.

“Who?”