Chapter 861 — Two Lines in the Register

CHAPTER 861

Two Lines in the Register

“Name first, honoured guest,” Junior Keeper Si Jiahe said politely. “Then the Mark you declare.”

The sitting register lay open on a black wooden stand at the end of the Pavilion’s customer salon. Tea steamed on two dozen tables. Capital alchemists in fine robes talked about clients and prices, and nobody paid any attention to the stand.

Shi Feng wet the brush and wrote his name in plain characters. Shi Feng.

Then he wrote “5 Mark” beside it.

Si Jiahe nodded and reached for the sand pot to dry the ink. Shi Feng moved the brush one space to the right and wrote “6 Mark” on the same line.

Si Jiahe’s hand stopped over the sand pot.

Ji Yuanhe stood one step behind with the bag. He leaned forward, read the line, and read it again with his lips moving. Then he straightened up, too astonished to ask what Shi Feng was planning.

“Honoured guest,” Si Jiahe said carefully. “This is one line.”

“It is,” Shi Feng said. “I’ve read the Handbook. I’d still like you to read it out, though. If the Pavilion says it, nobody can claim later that I made it up.”

Si Jiahe bowed. He took the Candidate’s Handbook from the shelf under the stand and opened it near the back.

“Clause forty-one,” Si Jiahe read, in a clear voice that carried across the salon. “Any holder of a Mark may declare a sitting for any higher Mark. Clause forty-two. Nothing in this register forbids the declaration of two Marks at one sitting. Clause sixty. A sitting for pills of the Profound Heaven realm runs three days and three nights. Clause sixty-one. The candidate supplies his own ingredients, or the pill belongs to the hall.”

He turned a page.

“The fees for the 5 Mark and the 6 Mark together are six million,” Si Jiahe said. “They’re paid at signing, at the outer counter, seven days from today, before sunset.”

Somewhere behind Shi Feng, a teacup touched its saucer and stayed there.

Si Jiahe closed the book and bowed again, lower this time.

“This junior must apologise, honoured guest,” Si Jiahe said. “Clause forty-two has stood in the Handbook for eleven hundred years. Nobody has ever used it. The hall may need a little time to work out how to seat it.”

“Then the hall has seven days,” Shi Feng said. “So do I.”

The salon had gone completely silent. Then it broke all at once.

“Two Marks? On one line?”

“He’s Shattering Void! A 6 Mark has to stand at Profound Heaven!”

“Last winter he was a frontier 3 Mark carrying his own spoons!”

“He’s trying to pull a cow up a tree.”

“He’ll be lucky to pass the 5!”

“…”

In the corner, Yuwen Dewei sat with his circle of six. He looked at the register. Then he looked at Shi Feng. Two seasons ago, in this same room, he had laughed until his tea spilled. In the winter he had bowed first in the Glass Hall and paid three hundred thousand for the privilege.

Yuwen Dewei raised one hand for the attendant.

“A pot of Cloud Peak, please,” Yuwen Dewei said quietly. “Hot.”

He didn’t laugh. His six friends looked at him, waited, and didn’t laugh either.

“Master Yuwen,” Shi Feng said, with a small bow. “Good afternoon.”

“Master Shi,” Yuwen Dewei replied, and drank his tea.

Near the salon door, a man in a steward’s robe with red flame trim on the sleeves had been watching the stand since morning. He went pale. Then he turned and ran, knocking over a chair on his way out, and nobody tried to stop him.

“He ran,” Ji Yuanhe said.

“He’s going to tell Qu Hanshan,” Shi Feng said. “Good. I haven’t hidden what I wrote.”

Si Jiahe coughed politely and turned the register to the facing page. A sheet of red paper was pasted there, with a seal of a burning sun at the bottom.

“The Azure Sun’s objection of this morning is entered here, honoured guest,” Si Jiahe said. “The Handbook says an objection must be recorded.”

“And what does it do once it’s recorded?” Shi Feng asked.

Si Jiahe thought about it seriously.

“The Handbook doesn’t say,” Si Jiahe said.

“Then I’ll find out with everyone else,” Shi Feng said.

He sanded the ink, bowed to Si Jiahe and left. Everyone in the silent room had heard the rule read; nobody could claim he’d signed secretly.

Outside, the Pavilion’s great steps ran down to the street in nine wide tiers. The afternoon sun lay warm on the stone.

Ji Yuanhe waited until they had reached the bottom before he spoke.

“Six million,” Ji Yuanhe said. “Master Shi, we have twelve, near enough.”

“We do,” Shi Feng said. “I’d rather the capital thought we didn’t. People who think you’re broke tell you their plans out loud.”

Ji Yuanhe considered that, and nodded slowly. Then he asked the thing he really wanted to ask.

“Can you make it?” Ji Yuanhe asked. “The 6.”

Shi Feng looked back up at the Pavilion’s tower, where the Glass Hall sat behind its walls of clear crystal.

“If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t pay six million to find out,” Shi Feng said. “Come on. If we hurry, the bun stall’s still open.”

They were halfway home to the Willow Ford courtyard when a Pavilion runner caught up with them, out of breath, and bowed so low his hat nearly fell off.

“Master Shi! Old Tower Master Dai sends his respects,” the runner panted. “Twelve alchemists of the capital have requested an audience with him tomorrow morning, about your declaration. The Tower Master asks if the candidate would care to attend.”

“Twelve?” Shi Feng asked.

“Twelve, Master Shi. All of them 5 Marks,” the runner confirmed, still out of breath.

Shi Feng smiled.

“Tell the Tower Master I’ll bring my own cup,” Shi Feng said.