Chapter 760 — Imperial Ring Law

CHAPTER 760

Imperial Ring Law

The Lake Stage stood in the water behind the Phoenix Tail Pavilion, a square of black stone forty paces across, raised on stone pillars a man’s height above the lake. A single narrow bridge ran out to it from the shore. There was no rail. On the shore, the galleries rose in tiers, and the princess’s balcony looked down on it from the pavilion’s top floor.

The eight candidates stood on the bridge’s landing in the morning wind, and Inspector Nie Liyan read to them from a scroll with the Clan Court’s black seal at the bottom.

“By the Imperial Clan Court’s ruling, any contest held under a Long banner is held under Imperial law,” Nie Liyan read in a smooth, unhurried voice. “The bouts of the Lake Stage will therefore follow Imperial ring law. A bout ends when a man yields, when he leaves the stage, or when his second throws the towel. A second’s towel counts as the man’s own yield. Any candidate who wants a second must register one with Chief Steward Ke by dusk.”

He rolled the scroll up and bowed to the candidates, perfectly polite.

“The Court hopes this will spare the princess’s guests any unnecessary deaths,” Nie Liyan added. “Imperial law values life.”

Ke Lianshu, standing beside him, looked as if he’d swallowed a fishbone. He bowed to everyone in turn and said nothing.

Qu Ming laughed first. “A towel. Fine. Yao Chen will hold mine.” He jerked his chin at the attendant behind him, a lean man in red with a burned left hand. “He’ll never need to throw it.”

“My father’s officer will second me,” Gu Yanxing said shortly.

“I’ll ask my cousin,” Situ Jinghong said, and smiled at the inspector. “The Court is very thoughtful.”

Cheng Mobai scratched his patched elbow. “Who’d second me? My landlord?” He grinned. “He’d throw the towel the moment I owed him rent.”

A few retainers on the shore laughed. Shi Feng didn’t.

He was looking at the bridge. It ran sixty paces from the shore to the stage, and the seconds’ places would be at its far end, on a small stone step beside the stage, where anyone on the bridge could reach them. A second could end the fight against the fighter’s wishes. Anyone who wanted a candidate to lose could threaten or buy that second. The step was easy to reach from shore, with no barrier between it and the bridge.

So that’s the trick, Shi Feng thought. It’s not a rule for the strong. It’s a rule for whoever can reach the seconds.

“Inspector,” Shi Feng said. “Does the law require a second?”

Nie Liyan turned to him with the same polite face. “It permits one, Master Shi. It doesn’t require one.”

“Then I’ll have no second,” Shi Feng said.

The other candidates looked at him. Rong Tianye frowned. Qiao Wending, who was standing a little apart from everyone, didn’t look up at all.

“That’s within your rights,” Nie Liyan said after a moment. “But a man with no second has nobody to save him. If you’re losing, nobody can stop the bout for you.”

“I can yield for myself if I need to,” Shi Feng said. “Write it down, please, Steward Ke. No second, by my own choice.”

“No second,” Ke Lianshu said, and wrote it at once, looking very much as if he wanted to thank him.

Cheng Mobai laughed out loud. “Look at that. The pill-boy doesn’t need anyone.” He scratched his elbow again. “I’ll find somebody. Even my landlord, if I have to.”

Nie Liyan’s eyes moved from Shi Feng to Cheng Mobai and back. He bowed and left the landing without another word, and his clerk hurried after him with the scroll.

Ji Yuanhe had been sitting on the lowest step of the gallery all morning, with a bun from Auntie Niu wrapped in paper on his knees. He’d heard everything. When Shi Feng came off the landing, the old man stood up.

“Is it true?” Ji Yuanhe asked. “No second?”

“It’s true,” Shi Feng said.

Ji Yuanhe turned the wrapped bun over in his hands. He did it three times, the same way he used to turn a pill before he counted it.

“Can the second be a man who doesn’t own a towel?” Ji Yuanhe asked.

Shi Feng stopped.

“I wouldn’t throw anything,” Ji Yuanhe said quickly. “I’d just stand there. They’d have to give the place to someone, and I’d be standing in it. I’d count. You’d hear me count.”

Shi Feng was touched. Ji Yuanhe wanted to stand beside him, even after the attacks. That made the decision harder to say aloud, but it didn’t change it.

“No,” Shi Feng said at last, and his voice was gentle. “Look at the step. It’s at the end of that bridge, ten paces from the stage, and Qu Ming’s fire will be ten paces from it. Anyone walking out from the shore can reach whoever stands there. The banquet servant ended up in a canal for less.”

“I’m not a servant,” Ji Yuanhe said, hurt by the comparison.

“No. You’re the man I carried out of the Pit,” Shi Feng said, putting a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “So you’ll sit in the gallery, where the princess’s guards are, with Auntie Niu on one side and two hundred witnesses on the other. And you’ll count from there. I’ll hear you.”

Ji Yuanhe thought about it. Then he nodded, unwrapped the bun and broke it in half, and gave Shi Feng the bigger piece.

“You’ll be hungry before you fight,” Ji Yuanhe said.

“I’m fourth. I don’t fight until the second day,” Shi Feng said.

“Then you’ll be hungry on the second day,” Ji Yuanhe said. “A man is iron, and rice is steel.”

Shi Feng took a bite. Ji Yuanhe waited until he’d swallowed before settling back onto the gallery step.

Up on the top balcony, a white sleeve moved at the rail and went still. He didn’t look up.

On the stage, attendants were sweeping the stone for the first day of the quarter-finals. One of them stopped to set a lacquered tray down on the seconds’ step. It held one folded red towel, embroidered with a sun.

Qu Ming’s bout was first.