Chapter 74 — The Buyer’s Hidden Hand

CHAPTER 74

The Buyer’s Hidden Hand

Before Shi Feng left for the late-afternoon meeting, the smell of scorched soup reached him from the kitchen door.

Ling Qingzhu stood by the stove with a wooden spoon in her fist, glaring at the pot. The broth had shrunk to a dark crust around the vegetables, and bright coals glowed under it.

“You said low heat!” Ling Qingzhu said. “I gave it low heat! It chose violence!”

Shi Feng looked at the coals. “They didn’t listen,” Shi Feng said.

She stepped back, offended on behalf of herself and the stove. Shi Feng lifted the pot off the fire, moved the unburned part into a clean pot without scraping the bottom, and added water. Ling Qingzhu watched with the reluctant interest of a proud woman learning that a chore beneath her notice had several hard steps.

“I added water,” Ling Qingzhu said stiffly.

“When?” Shi Feng asked.

“After it started to smoke,” Ling Qingzhu admitted.

“So you added it late,” Shi Feng said.

Ling Qingzhu’s ears turned red. “The smoke should have said something sooner,” Ling Qingzhu muttered at the wall.

A dark mark showed on the back of her hand where she’d touched the hot lid. Shi Feng took the scentless cream from the shelf and spread a little on it.

“It’ll fade,” Shi Feng said. “Leave the lid on while I meet this buyer.”

At the hired room behind the disused preparation house, Zhao Sheng offered tea before he offered a name.

“Sit, young master, sit!” Zhao Sheng said warmly, pushing a cup across the table. “Have some tea!”

Shi Feng remained by the door. The hired room had one shuttered window and a table wide enough for the sample case Zhao Sheng had asked him to bring. According to the invitation, a travelling company wanted ordinary medicine in bulk. So far Shi Feng had seen no company mark and no order list.

“The advance?” Shi Feng asked.

Zhao Sheng patted his robe, then looked toward the empty passage outside.

“My partner has it,” Zhao Sheng said. “Let me call him. Please look over the sizes we need.”

He laid a sheet on the table and moved toward the door. Shi Feng read the first line. Ointment, wound wash, twelve jars of each. Nothing about that list needed a private room.

A soft scrape came from the case.

Shi Feng looked up. Zhao Sheng's hand had slipped through the half-open lid. He was lifting the small notebook wrapped beside the samples.

Their eyes met.

For a breath, Zhao Sheng tried to keep the friendly smile. Then he threw the notebook toward the window, caught it in his other hand and ran.

Shi Feng blocked the door.

Zhao Sheng reached for the latch over his shoulder. Qi gathered around the thief's ankles, Foundation Establishment force preparing a short burst of speed. He meant to jump through the shutter if he couldn't pass the door. He didn't draw a weapon or strike at Shi Feng's throat.

Shi Feng caught his wrist and turned it.

The notebook fell onto the table. Zhao Sheng followed it halfway, bent at the waist, his trapped hand against his own shoulder.

“Let go!” Zhao Sheng shouted.

He shoved at the table with his free hand to upset it between them. Shi Feng stepped around the sliding leg and pinned him against the wall. The thief's qi scattered under the pressure. His free hand stopped moving.

“You're hurting me!” Zhao Sheng said.

“Stop pulling,” Shi Feng said.

Zhao Sheng stopped. He stared at the hand holding his wrist as though it belonged to a spirit beast. The information he had bought described a cripple who sold common medicine. It hadn't mentioned this strength.

Shi Feng retrieved the notebook. Its first pages held prices and customer instructions. The actual preparation notes stayed at home. A thief who never asked what he was stealing had found the wrong book.

“Who wants it?” Shi Feng asked.

“It's a misunderstanding,” Zhao Sheng said.

“Then explain why my notes are in your hand,” Shi Feng said.

Shi Feng brought him away from the wall, sat him on the floor and used the sample case's binding cord to secure his wrists tightly behind him, pressing a thumb against the shoulder meridian so he couldn't gather another qi burst.

A folded slip showed beneath the thief's loosened collar.

Zhao Sheng saw Shi Feng notice it and shut his eyes.

The paper carried Zhou Mingde's private seal. Half the fee had been paid. The remainder was due after delivery of preparation notes or sealed medicine from the peddler's stock. The last line specified that there should be no injuries and no damage traced to the medicine house.

He flattened the payment slip beneath the clean lid so spilled tea couldn’t blur Zhou Mingde’s seal. Then he checked that the torn invitation still named this room and tucked it beside the slip.

He placed the notebook beside them and checked the samples. One jar had cracked when Zhao Sheng tipped the case. The others remained sound.

“Zhou Mingde said you wouldn't notice,” Zhao Sheng muttered. “He said you were desperate for a customer. I can pay for the cracked jar!”

“Keep your stones,” Shi Feng said. “Zhou Mingde owes you the second half of your fee. It would be rude not to let you collect it at his front counter.”

Zhao Sheng’s face went white. “You’re taking me to his shop door?!” Zhao Sheng said.

Shi Feng called the lodging keeper from the passage. The keeper arrived with a lamp, stared at his bound tenant on the floor, and looked at the sealed commission slip in Shi Feng’s hand.

“Bar this shutter until the morning bell,” Shi Feng told the keeper, placing two spirit stones on the table. “And send your boy to the district watch post at dawn. Tell Senior Runner Deng that a hired thief with a shopkeeper’s private seal is ready to be delivered to Zhou’s Medicine House when the morning market opens.”

On the floor, Zhao Sheng closed his eyes in despair. Across the district, Zhou Mingde was still waiting for his stolen notebook.