Chapter 683 — The Turnip Stamp

CHAPTER 683

The Turnip Stamp

“Three hundred thousand,” Scholar Yang Yifu said, resting one hand protectively on a cloth-wrapped book. “The Serene Jade’s sealed index. Every name they’ve ever hidden, young master. Books hold houses of gold, as the sages say.”

They sat in the back room of a teahouse two streets from the tower. Yang Yifu had long fingernails, a scholar’s cap that kept sliding over his eyebrows, and an eager smile that never faltered while he named the price.

“And to look at it?” Shi Feng asked.

“A deposit of one hundred thousand, returned in full if the young master isn’t satisfied,” Yang Yifu said. “This humble scholar is an honest man.”

Shi Feng paid and unwrapped the book.

The first page listed the Serene Jade Sect’s public halls and the hours they received pilgrims. Shi Feng knew it well. It was the sect’s public gazetteer, and he’d bought a copy on Tower Street in his second week for two silver.

The only thing sealed about it was a red stamp on every page: SEALED.

He lifted a page and sniffed. The stamp smelled of turnip. The edge of each print showed the round ring of a turnip’s pith, and on the third page a tiny curl of turnip skin had stuck in the ink.

Shi Feng was delighted. He’d worn his own name backwards for a year, and he respected a fellow artist.

“Scholar Yang, I’d like my deposit back,” Shi Feng said, closing the book. “Let me explain why. First, this is the gazetteer. It’s two silver on Tower Street, and I own a copy. Second, your seal is a turnip. The ink’s still wet, so you carved it this morning. Third, a real seal goes on the cover, not the inside pages. My deposit, please.”

Yang Yifu’s cap slid down over his eyes.

“The young master has the eyes of a… of a…” Yang Yifu stammered.

“The deposit, Scholar Yang,” Shi Feng reminded him, holding out his hand.

Yang Yifu counted the hundred thousand back, looking as if each note hurt him.

“And ten silver for the lesson,” Shi Feng added.

“What lesson?” Yang Yifu asked, stunned.

“The one I just gave you about the cover,” Shi Feng said. “Next time, carve a bigger turnip. Lesson forty-one: a forged page is a free lesson with a deposit. As long as the deposit comes back, the lesson’s free. For me, anyway. For you it’s ten silver.”

Yang Yifu paid the ten silver. He was so flustered that when he snatched up his folder it fell open, and a stack of old papers slid across the floor.

Shi Feng picked one up to hand it back, then stopped.

It was a petition form. At the top was the stamp of the Serene Jade Sect’s gatekeeper: “Records of persons are kept by the Sky Pavilion. Apply to the Records Hall.” Under it was the Records Hall’s stamp: “Sect records are the sect’s own. Apply to the Serene Jade Sect.” Under that, the gatekeeper’s stamp again. Then the Hall’s. Six times on one sheet, back and forth.

He picked up another, then a third. Different petitioners, different years. The same two stamps.

“Where did you get these?” Shi Feng asked.

“From petitioners who gave up, young master,” Yang Yifu said, gathering the rest. “This humble scholar buys them by the bundle. The backs are good paper.”

Shi Feng laid three sheets side by side on the table, and for a moment his amusement went quiet.

“It’s a circle,” Shi Feng said. “Somebody built it on purpose.”

One door sent a man to the other door, and the other door sent him back. A thing like that didn’t happen by accident for years on end. Somebody very strong wanted nobody to reach the end of it, Shi Feng thought, and that somebody wasn’t the Pavilion.

He paid a silver each for the three sheets and put them in his sleeve.

The Pavilion’s customer salon was on the sixth floor, all lacquer and tall windows over Alchemists’ Row. Marked customers could sit there, and members drank the tea for free.

Shi Feng wasn’t a member.

He’d barely sat down when a spoon slipped out of his sleeve and rang on the floor.

“So this is the famous Feng Shi!” Yuwen Dewei called from the best table, and a dozen heads turned.

Yuwen Dewei was a handsome capital alchemist with a jade fan and a laugh he clearly liked the sound of. Six alchemists sat around him, laughing whenever he laughed.

“The Situ steward never stops talking about you,” Yuwen Dewei said loudly. “He used to buy his banquet pills from me, you know. Now he buys them from a frontier tower 3 Mark with no sect, who rents his hall by the hour.”

“And carries his own spoons!” a man at his elbow added, pointing.

The table roared with laughter.

“A toad lusting after swan meat,” Yuwen Dewei said, fanning himself. “Coming all the way to Tianjing to steal other people’s clients.”

A Pavilion attendant appeared beside Shi Feng and bowed.

“For a guest who isn’t a member, honoured guest,” the attendant said politely, “the house rate is sixty thousand for the pot.”

“Sixty thousand,” Shi Feng repeated clearly, so the whole room could hear, and counted it onto the tray. “There. I wouldn’t want anyone saying the frontier drinks for free.”

He drank slowly and smiled at Yuwen’s table with real pleasure. They were the best entertainment he’d had since the Seam.

“You’ve watched me pay, Master Yuwen,” Shi Feng said, taking another drink. “Now let me enjoy what I bought. You can laugh while it cools.”

The laughter stopped. Yuwen Dewei’s fan stopped too.

“…” Yuwen Dewei said.

Then he snapped the fan open again and leaned back.

“Seasoning, is it?” Yuwen Dewei sneered. “Then tell us, Feng Shi. When do you plan to sit for a real Mark? Next century?”

Shi Feng set down his cup.

“Since you ask so kindly,” Shi Feng said.