Chapter 784 — Out of the Lake

CHAPTER 784

Out of the Lake

Qu Ming didn’t swim back to the stage.

He swam the other way, toward the shore, as if the stage had stopped existing. He went slowly. His burned sleeve dragged in the water, and twice his head went under and came up coughing. Nobody in the gallery called out to him. Nobody laughed, either.

The lake brought him in to the shore steps beside the bridge, right below the gallery where his grandfather sat.

Ji Yuanhe was still standing there with his towel. He looked down at the young lord in the water, and after a moment he stepped aside to make room.

Qu Ming put both hands on the lowest step and pulled himself out.

He was soaked to the skin. His hair was plastered across his face, and the gold suns on his red robe had gone dark with water. He was shaking from his shoulders to his knees, and it wasn’t the cold. The lake was still warm from his own fire.

He stood on the step and lifted his head. Above him, in the front row of the gallery, sat Qu Hanshan. Above that, on the balcony, sat Shen Yaoqing.

Neither of them said anything to him.

Then the gallery found its voice.

“He’s out… the young lord’s out of the lake.”

“Peak Deity Transformation, sixty-fourth on the Tianxing, beaten by a man who shows late Deity Transformation!”

“Put into the water with one palm…”

“I had forty silver on Qu Ming. Forty silver!”

“He’s lost the wife and lost the soldiers too!”

“Shut up about your silver. Look at the old man’s face.”

“…”

The gallery went quiet again, and this time it stayed quiet.

On the Lake Stage, Chief Steward Ke Lianshu finally remembered the gong hammer in his hand. He struck it once, very gently, as if he were afraid of disturbing someone.

Bong.

“The final of the Lake Stage,” Ke Lianshu announced, and bowed to the shore. “Candidate Shi Feng, tally one thousand one hundred and seven, is the victor. My apologies to the young lord for the water.”

Shi Feng walked to the edge of the stage. He was barefoot now. His boots had burned through at some point in the full sun, and he hadn’t noticed when. He looked across the water at the soaked figure on the shore steps.

“The water’s warm now, at least,” Shi Feng said.

He didn’t raise his voice, but on that silent lake it carried to every railing.

Qu Ming’s whole body jerked as if he’d been struck. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out of it but lake water.

In the front row, Qu Hanshan stood up.

He was a tall old man with a long white beard, in a red robe worked with gold suns. A half-step 6 Mark didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard. The people on either side of him shrank back in their chairs.

He looked at the stage for one long breath. He didn’t look at Shi Feng. He looked at the scorched stone and the furrow on the lake, as if he were measuring them.

Then he turned and walked out of the gallery.

He passed his grandson without looking down. Yao Chen, at the shore by now, ran a few steps after him, then stopped in panic. The elder was leaving, but the young lord could barely stand. The attendant hurried back to Qu Ming and held out an arm, unsure whether even that help would be welcome.

Shi Feng watched the red robe go up the gallery stairs and out under the pavilion’s gate.

He’s leaving before anyone can ask about the marriage, Shi Feng thought. Qu Hanshan had watched the whole fight, and he was not going to defend his grandson’s loss in public. That did not mean he would forget it.

On the balcony, Shen Yaoqing hadn’t moved. She sat with her hands folded in her lap and her face was as cold as ever. She didn’t stand when the gong sounded. She didn’t stand when the gallery began to murmur. She stayed in her chair until the last flash of red had gone through the gate.

Then she stood up, smoothed her sleeves once, and went inside without a word.

Above her veil, Long Caili’s eyes followed her to the door, and she said nothing at all.

Shi Feng walked back along the bridge. Ji Yuanhe was waiting at the bottom with the towel.

He didn’t throw it. He held it out.

Shi Feng took it and wiped the soot off his face. The towel came away black. His stomach chose that moment to clench so hard that he had to stop on the second step and lean on the rail.

“You weren’t killed,” Ji Yuanhe said. He said it carefully, as if he were checking a count.

“I promised,” Shi Feng said, taking his hand off the rail once the pain eased. “I meant it, Master Ji. Sorry I made you wait so long to hear it.”

Ji Yuanhe looked at the black towel, then at the blistered arm. He folded the towel neatly, soot side in, and put it under his own arm.

“You promised you wouldn’t be killed,” Ji Yuanhe said. “You didn’t promise anything about the eyebrow.”

Shi Feng laughed, and it hurt his stomach.

Behind them, Qu Ming was still standing on the lowest step in his wet robe, alone except for Yao Chen. The crowd from the gallery was coming down the stairs on either side of him, and every one of them walked around him without a word.

“When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter,” a gambler muttered on the stairs, and hurried past.

At the top of the stairs a household runner in Long colours stood waiting. He bowed to Shi Feng, deeply and correctly.

“Master Shi. Her Highness’s compliments,” the runner said. “Tomorrow, at the hour of the snake, in the Talent Hall. The recruits’ contract will be read. Chief Steward Ke asks that you bring your own brush.”

Shi Feng’s stomach clenched again.

“Tell Steward Ke I’ll be there,” Shi Feng said. “And ask him to have the full terms ready. I want to read them before I sign.”