Chapter 738 — The Bill for the Beads

CHAPTER 738

The Bill for the Beads

“Bought!” Tang Mingyu shouted again. He was on his feet now, holding his wrist against his chest. “Everyone saw it! He had a man at the rail counting for him! His old servant called out every bead! That’s help from outside the ring!”

The galleries wavered.

“Did the old man count?”

“I heard him. ‘Seven, eight, nine.’”

“That’s not help, that’s arithmetic.”

At the rail, Ji Yuanhe had gone pale. He let go of the wood and folded his hands into his sleeves, as if he wanted to hide them.

Shi Feng saw Ji Yuanhe shrink back. Anger cooled his expression. Tang Mingyu had lost to him; there was no reason to frighten the old man.

“Master Ji counts everything,” Shi Feng said to the galleries. “He counts buns and stairs too. You could hear every number he called, just as I could. How is that cheating?” Shi Feng turned back to Tang Mingyu. “You said this bout was bought. Let’s talk about that.”

“It was!” Tang Mingyu shouted.

“You’re right,” Shi Feng said. “It was.”

The galleries went quiet again, this time in confusion. Tang Mingyu opened his mouth and found nothing in it.

“Somebody bought it,” Shi Feng went on calmly. “Two days ago, a man at this rail told me the lot box spent the night before the draw in Tang hands. Then the box gave the Tang heir the one candidate with no sponsor and no family. That’s a bought bout. I just don’t think the Tang got their money’s worth.”

He looked past Tang Mingyu to the east gallery, where the Tang family’s seats were. Tang Wenbo sat in the front row in a grey merchant’s robe, with an abacus of his own resting on his knee, a plain wooden one.

“Steward Tang,” Shi Feng said politely. “You keep the family’s accounts. Who paid for the lot?”

Every head on the practice ground turned to the east gallery.

Tang Wenbo didn’t stand. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t say anything at all. He looked at Shi Feng for a long moment with the same mild expression he’d worn during their talks in Wanhe. His silence showed he understood the danger of answering in front of the princess. Then he moved one bead on his wooden abacus from one side to the other.

“No answer,” someone said in the gallery.

“Tried to steal a chicken and lost the rice,” someone else laughed.

Tang Mingyu looked at the gallery, at his family’s steward, and back at Shi Feng. His face went from red to white.

“Wenbo,” Tang Mingyu said. “Say something.”

Tang Wenbo stood, bowed to the highest gallery and bowed to Ke Lianshu.

“Young Master, your wrist needs a physician,” Tang Wenbo said.

That was all. He walked out of the east gallery, and after a moment, the Tang retainers went after him.

Tang Mingyu stood alone among his beads.

Ke Lianshu cleared his throat and bowed.

“The result stands,” Ke Lianshu said. “This humble steward apologises to everyone for the noise.”

The pavilion offered a carriage. Shi Feng refused it.

“Then the household’s physician, Master Shi,” Ke Lianshu pleaded at the gate. “Two ribs at least. This humble steward heard them from the steps.”

“Two,” Shi Feng agreed. “Cracked, not broken. I’ll bind them at home. If I ride, the carriage will shake them, and if your physician sees them, he’ll tell me not to fight for a month. I’d rather not hear that.”

He walked home with Ji Yuanhe beside him, through the West Market and down the canal road, slowly. The snow on the road had melted in the afternoon and frozen again into ruts, and every rut went straight into his left side.

“Seven hundred and twelve steps,” Ji Yuanhe said, when they turned into Willow Ford.

“Is that a lot?” Shi Feng asked.

“It is a lot with two ribs,” Ji Yuanhe said.

Shi Feng laughed and then stopped quickly, because laughing was a mistake.

“You did well today,” Shi Feng said. “You heard the row change before I saw it.”

Ji Yuanhe looked down at his hands.

“I didn’t mean to help,” Ji Yuanhe said. “I only counted.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Shi Feng said. “You saw something useful and said it aloud. Don’t let him make you ashamed of that.”

At the courtyard gate, he stopped. Somebody was shouting on the other side of the wall.

“Young Master Shi!” Auntie Niu’s voice came over the top. “Is that you creaking out there? The whole lane says you knocked down a Tang today! A Tang! With your ribs out!”

“Only two ribs, Auntie,” Shi Feng called.

“Only two, he says!” Auntie Niu shouted. “Tiezhu! Hand it up!”

A wooden tray rose over the top of the wall, wobbling. Niu Tiezhu’s two hands were under it, and then his face appeared, red from the effort. A dozen steaming buns slid toward the edge.

“Grandma says eat all of them,” Niu Tiezhu panted. “She says you’re too thin to be beating rich people.”

“Tell her thank you,” Shi Feng said. “And be careful. Those buns are going to fall on your head.”

“She says it’s free today, because a Tang lost,” Niu Tiezhu said. “She says she’ll charge you double tomorrow to make up for it.”

Shi Feng took the tray down with his right arm and set it on the step. Ji Yuanhe counted the buns without being asked. Twelve. Shi Feng ate four of them on the step in the cold, one after another, and for a while his side hurt a little less.

Across the lane, the paper-seller banged his shutter closed for the night. Tomorrow morning, the Tianji Mansion’s new issue would be hanging on it.