Chapter 84 — The Friend at the Door

CHAPTER 84

The Friend at the Door

“Honoured guest, honoured guest, there’s a far wider courtyard standing empty just two lanes over!” Bao Shun cried, trotting beside the carriage with both sleeves flapping.

The black carriage filled Qingliu Lane. Granny Qin forgot her brazier and burned a tray of sesame cakes watching its gold-thread curtains.

“Who owns that carriage?”

“It must be for Fairy Ling.”

“Nobody visits the cripple. Of course it’s for her…”

“…”

The gate opened, and Ling Qingzhu walked out, white veil in place, before Bao Shun reached the carriage door.

“My friend came to visit me,” Ling Qingzhu said with her broker smile. “She didn’t come to buy the lane.”

Bao Shun laughed awkwardly, bowed twice and backed away.

The curtain lifted. A young woman in apricot silk stepped down, a jade bell at her waist ringing softly. Su Wanning, a salt merchant's daughter, was bouncing before her feet touched the ground.

“Qingzhu, Qingzhu, Qingzhu!” Su Wanning cried, and threw both arms around her friend. “Look at you, you’ve gotten thin! Is the capital starving you? Is this really the lane? It’s so narrow, and where’s your husband, is he hiding, did he get scared?”

“The capital feeds me fine,” Ling Qingzhu said, prying herself loose. “I’m not thin. You’re squeezing me. Come in. Stop eyeing the lane.”

Su Wanning looked at the lane anyway. Then she looked at the gate, the pear tree, and the plain table beneath it, and she pointed at all of it.

“Why doesn’t that roof tile match? Why is a cord holding your window? Is that the whole kitchen? It’s tiny, it’s so cute,” Su Wanning said.

Through the open door of the only room, she also saw a single bed, a chest at its foot, and a neat roll of bedding on the floor in the far corner.

“One bed?” Su Wanning whispered, eyes huge. “And that’s his bedding on the floor, Qingzhu, really?”

Ling Qingzhu looked at the sky.

Shi Feng came out carrying a tray. He set down three cups without a sound.

“So you’re the husband, the famous husband,” Su Wanning said, leaning toward him. “Qingzhu’s letters say you argue over rope. Is it true?”

“So this is the famous friend,” Shi Feng said.

Su Wanning laughed loudly, then peered at him. He sounded polite, and that worried her more than rudeness would have.

Ling Qingzhu took a cup before he could finish setting it down. Then her gaze dropped to the hand he kept resting against his side.

“Does it still hurt?” Ling Qingzhu asked.

“Not much,” Shi Feng said.

“Don’t carry the heavy water jar,” Ling Qingzhu said at once.

“I wasn’t going to,” Shi Feng said.

“You were,” Ling Qingzhu said.

Su Wanning’s eyes lit up. That question came far too fast for an introduction. Ling Qingzhu watched the man’s movements before she thought to watch her own words.

So the contract wife already counts his wounds, Su Wanning thought. Ooh, interesting.

Su Wanning waited until the kitchen doorway was empty.

“Still wearing the veil with me here?” Su Wanning asked.

“You’re a guest,” Ling Qingzhu replied.

“But your husband isn’t?” Su Wanning asked.

Ling Qingzhu’s hand stopped on her cup. Su Wanning grinned. That answer was much better than another denial.

“The Qingshi boy at the royal youth review,” Su Wanning said. “You were sixteen. Remember?”

“His eyes stayed so calm when—” Ling Qingzhu said.

“EYES, Big Sis Qingzhu!” Su Wanning whispered. “I asked about the review!”

“I meant his composure,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“And your jealousy of a tenth-ranked fairy?” Su Wanning asked. “Our First Fairy, jealous!”

“Have some tea,” Ling Qingzhu said.

Su Wanning leaned forward, delighted. Ling Qingzhu's ears burned above the ties of her white veil.

“One more word and you can eat your own carriage curtains,” Ling Qingzhu said.

In the next room, Shi Feng knocked two medicine jars together while sorting a crate. Through the rattle, he caught something about eyes, sixteen, and a tenth-ranked fairy. Another story about their friends, probably. He shifted the crate and heard nothing more until Su Wanning raised her voice again.

Ling Qingzhu checked the doorway. Su Wanning followed her glance and finally lowered her voice. Whatever she remembered, it stayed between the women.

“But you paid him so generously!” Su Wanning whispered loudly. “I hope he keeps you comfortable. Does he? Is he nice, is he a little handsome?”

Ling Qingzhu glanced toward the kitchen.

“He isn’t difficult to live with,” Ling Qingzhu said, a little too fast. “That’s all I said.”

“Isn’t difficult?” Su Wanning squealed. “That means yes, that means so much yes!”

Ling Qingzhu pressed her thumb hard against the cup. “He cooks for me,” Ling Qingzhu muttered. “He also insults my knife work. It balances out.”

“He cooks? How useful, you always hated waiting for the household kitchens,” Su Wanning said.

That was true. It didn’t explain why Ling Qingzhu’s heart warmed each time she came home and found supper waiting.

Back in the kitchen, Shi Feng finished a label. He'd heard the payment talk clearly enough.

Ten thousand spirit stones, he thought. Paid generously. Taken care of.

The money had never crossed the table, and he was sure she knew it. He sneered in his heart. She could tell her friends whatever story she liked. He’d written the truth into the account with his own hand. He wouldn’t stand at his own gate begging to be judged more kindly.

He rinsed his hands and carried out a plate of sliced pear.

“So what do you sell? Does it earn much? Do I get a discount?” Su Wanning asked, taking a piece.

“Enough to keep going,” Shi Feng said.

“How peaceful,” Su Wanning sighed. “A quiet life.”

Shi Feng looked at the blade resting beside the kitchen door. A quiet life? Not long ago he’d killed a mid Foundation Establishment cultivator. He didn’t correct her.

Su Wanning ate her pear. Then her gaze fell on a strip of plain cloth tied around Ling Qingzhu’s wrist.

“What’s that cloth on your wrist?” Su Wanning asked. “It doesn’t match your robe, you never wear things that don’t match.”

“It protects my skin from the new sleeve,” Ling Qingzhu said. “It’s useful. Very practical.”

Ling Qingzhu looked down. The cloth matched nothing. Shi Feng had tied it there himself after noticing the red mark, and she’d forgotten it was even there.

Ling Qingzhu’s ears reddened above her veil’s ties as she stared at the cloth in shock. Su Wanning clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes shining.

“…Don’t,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Don’t say it. Not one word.”

Shi Feng passed her another piece of pear. Ling Qingzhu accepted it while glaring at Su Wanning, who took the glare as another excellent answer.

By late afternoon the two women had worked through household gossip and visiting relations, and then two stories Shi Feng had no wish to understand. He came back when Ling Qingzhu called him in to ask about supper.

“We could eat here,” Ling Qingzhu said. “It’s quiet, and nobody stares.”

“There’s enough for three if I make another dish,” Shi Feng said.

“Nonsense!” Su Wanning cried, clapping her hands. “Yuelan Terrace! I just arrived, and everyone says the music there is amazing! We’re going, all three of us, a proper evening! Qingzhu, say yes!”

Ling Qingzhu turned to Shi Feng with bright, open hope.

She wanted her friend to see them outside this little courtyard. She wanted an evening with him as well. The two wishes tangled together before she could separate them.

“A proper one,” Ling Qingzhu said. “I’ll even let you read the prices out loud. Will you come?”

Shi Feng thought, She isn’t performing.

That was the dangerous part. He knew Yuelan Terrace by name and reputation, and he knew what its menu cost. A man could refuse an outing without losing face. No contract forced him to buy a pleasant evening for a woman who believed she already owned his company.

But the hope in her eyes was real, and he wanted to be the reason it stayed there.

“Yes,” Shi Feng said.

Ling Qingzhu’s eyes brightened at once. Su Wanning began choosing dishes aloud, naming three different fish.

Shi Feng went back to the kitchen and finished the labels. Only after the last jar was sealed did he open the account book beside it and count his reserve: two hundred and nineteen spirit stones, saved coin by coin across weeks of furnace smoke, plus a note from Gao Yuan warning that Eastern Palace clerks had been asking which herb stalls sold Hengyun mountain roots.

Sima Yu was still looking for the man on the signal-fort path, and tomorrow night Yuelan Terrace was going to take almost every stone in his purse.