Chapter 207: That Scale of Yours Isn't Rigged

On the tenth day of the Twelfth Month, frost fell before dawn. A layer of white lay over the flagstones of Market Street. The charcoal sellers arrived early, their carrying poles lined up along the south end of the street, the frost buried under charcoal dust, every footstep leaving black prints.

They reached town at the Dragon hour. Qian Duoduo and Du Xiaochuan had carried the pot of Spirit Meal down before dawn and set it up against the third pillar along the wall. Shao Ming came down from the north end of the street, pulled the wedge free, and lifted the door panels off, leaning them against the stone at the foot of the wall. The scale went up on its hook. Xu Yan spread the market ledger open on the counter and tested a stroke of ink on the edge of the paper.

The cabinet sat against the west wall, its doors open, the shelves wiped clean. Empty inside.

From opening day to now, that cabinet had stood empty for three market days. People came in, read the paper on the wall to the end, asked once whether it really cost nothing, glanced into the cabinet, and left.

Near the end of the Dragon hour, the light at the doorway dimmed.

A tall, lean man stood outside the threshold, not stepping in. He tilted his head up to read the plaque over the door lintel, then lowered his eyes to the paper on the wall inside. He pulled his hands out of his sleeves and read it line by line. When he reached "No stall fees, no commission," his lips moved. When he reached "Accounts settled every year on the tenth day of the Eighth Month," his foot crossed the threshold.

He took the scale down from the wall, lifted it by the balance cord with one hand, and checked the scale stars first. He leveled the beam, then flipped the scale weight over and looked at its underside.

"The underside's been filed," he said.

"Calibrated," Xu Yan said.

"Where's the man who calibrated it?"

"Up the mountain."

"How many passes?"

"Three."

The man hung the scale back exactly where it had been, the hook dangling.

Another man still stood outside the door, a bundle on his back, his shoulders dusted with frost.

"Come in." The man didn't look back. "Untie it."

The younger one came in, set the bundle on the counter, untied the hemp rope, and spread it open: a stack of talisman paper bound with hemp thread; three bundles of sun-dried grass, tied with straw cord, yellowed, roots still carrying dry soil.

"Mochi Gate. Miao Zhong," the man said. "These, on consignment."

Shao Ming stepped up, hung one bundle of grass on the scale hook, lifted. The beam leveled. "Seventeen and a half jin." The second, "Nineteen jin." The third, "Fifteen jin." Xu Yan opened a new column in the market ledger, wrote "Mochi Gate" at the top, then "Miao Zhong" on the line below, entering each item stroke by stroke. Since opening day, this was the first consignment to come in.

The talisman paper didn't go on the scale. Miao Zhong counted it himself, flipping through sheet by sheet, then reported the number, and Xu Yan recorded it.

"Write your own prices." Xu Yan pushed a stack of cut paper labels over and laid the brush on the rim of the inkstone.

Miao Zhong sat down and wrote. One label per bundle of grass, one for the talisman paper. When he finished, he pressed the labels onto the goods one by one, tapped them with his finger, and read them over from the beginning.

"That scale of yours isn't rigged."

"It isn't."

"Will the weight get swapped?"

"No. The weight stays on the hook, the scale stays on the wall. Nobody touches either before the market ends."

"When do I collect the money from sales?"

"The tenth day of the Eighth Month."

"Settled once a year?"

"Once a year."

"And what doesn't sell?"

"You can collect it back any market day."

Miao Zhong set the brush back on the rim of the inkstone and raised his eyes to the paper on the wall. "The tenth day of the Eighth Month... just before the Autumn Evaluation." He paused. "Good."

Xu Yan opened the cabinet. The disciple carried the talisman paper and the three bundles of grass inside, placing them in the east compartment, the grass tips facing inward, the talisman paper on top. Xu Yan slipped the price labels one by one into the seam of the cabinet doors, facing outward.

"On the door?"

"People outside can see them. If they can see them, someone will ask."

Miao Zhong stepped back, looked in from the street, and nodded. "Sect Master Xu, this room of yours is more thought-out than I expected." He left with his disciple, and when he reached the middle of the street, he turned back for one more look at the scale.

Two townspeople stood across the street. One had watched the goods being carried into the cabinet. He asked, "Qingya's shop here is selling goods for other people?"

"Consignment," Shao Ming said.

"Does it cost anything to leave goods?"

"Nothing."

The man wiped his hands on his apron, walked to the doorway, and read the labels on the cabinet doors all the way through before heading on into the market.

"He counted those talisman sheets three times," Shao Ming said, stepping back inside.

"Mm."

"He didn't over-report a single sheet."

At the Snake hour, Qi Qi came running down from the north end of the street, his cloth pouch slapping against his hip, and delivered ten bottles of Qi-Gathering Powder to the stall by the pillar. Then he ducked into the shop, glanced at the labels on the cabinet door, and took his place by the entrance.

Just before noon, at the busiest time of the market, a rogue cultivator stood in front of the cabinet, reading the price labels in the door seam from top to bottom. He carried a cloth pack on his back, his shoulders still damp from the morning, a bowl of Spirit Meal in his hand. He'd take a bite, lift his eyes to the shop, take another bite.

"Mochi Gate's?" he asked.

"On consignment from Mochi Gate," Shao Ming said.

"They're willing to leave it here with you?"

"They are."

The rogue finished the last of the broth in his bowl, set the bowl in the bucket by the pillar, and left. A while later he came back. One corner of his pack was untied, and inside was a dried packet, black with a green tinge.

"How does this consignment thing work?"

Xu Yan came out from behind the counter, stood by the wall, and tapped the paper with one finger. "You set your own price. Whatever sells is recorded under your name. Settlement on the tenth day of the Eighth Month."

"A year?"

"A year."

"And if it doesn't sell?"

"You can collect it back any market day."

The rogue hefted the pack. Then he looked at the east compartment of the cabinet. "I could carry this down to the wharf and have money today."

"True."

Xu Yan said nothing more, and didn't try to persuade him. Anyone could do that arithmetic; it wasn't his place to do it for them.

The rogue stood there and read the labels on the cabinet door again. Mochi Gate's labels were in the seam, the characters written by Mochi Gate's own people, the prices set by their own hand.

"If Mochi Gate's willing to wait." He pushed the pack onto the counter. "Leave it here."

Two steps away, he turned back. "How will I know how much it sold for?"

"It's in the ledger. If you want to see it, I'll open it for you."

"No need for that," he said. "I'll ask next market."

"What's it called?"

"Stone Lichen."

Xu Yan fished a half-used charcoal stick from the cabinet, cut a paper label, and handed it over. "Write the price on it. And your name."

The rogue gripped the charcoal stick and wrote, his hand unsteady. He crossed out one character on the second line and rewrote it, then pressed the label onto the pack.

Xu Yan opened the cabinet, placed the pack in the lower compartment, and tucked the label into the opening of the pack, the writing facing outward.

He opened a new column in the market ledger, wrote "Rogue Cultivator" at the top, and below it the date, the goods, the price. He didn't ask for a name. He could remember that face matched with that pack.

On the fifteenth day of the Twelfth Month, at the Snake hour, a female cultivator entered the shop, wearing a dark green padded jacket. She came alone.

She went to the scale first, flipped the weight over to check its underside, hung the scale back where it had been, and only then walked to the cabinet.

"Willow Bank Gate. Zhuo Ying."

"Steward Zhuo."

Zhuo Ying looked over the labels on the cabinet door. "Mochi Gate's people said your scale isn't rigged."

"Weigh it and see."

She set her things down from her shoulder. "Black Vine Whisker, two packets. One bundle of bamboo splints, scraped."

The splints were scraped thin, all the same length, bound tight.

Shao Ming took the scale down and hung the packets one by one. "Eleven jin." "Nine and a half." The bamboo splints were light. "Six jin."

Zhuo Ying wrote her own labels, her characters small, the rows neatly aligned. When she finished, she slipped the labels into the seam of the cabinet door and looked inside. "If these packets and their bundles of grass are put together, who takes the loss if they get crushed?"

"One compartment per household."

"Good, separate compartments."

She studied the west half-compartment for a moment, adjusted one label so the writing faced out.

"The tenth day of the Eighth Month. I'll come collect the money myself."

"Mm."

"The market closes at the end of the Horse hour?"

"End of the Horse hour."

"Then I'll come early next market." She pressed a hand briefly on the cabinet door before turning to leave.

Mid-Snake hour, a townsman came in and read the labels twice.

"How much for the talisman paper?"

Xu Yan quoted the price from the label. The man felt at his waist. "Two sheets."

Xu Yan opened the cabinet, took two sheets from the east compartment, rolled them up, and handed them over. He took the money, dropped it into the market box, and turned to the Mochi Gate column in the ledger, adding a line below.

"Who drew these talismans?"

"Mochi Gate."

"Never heard of them."

"Ninth Rank sect. The talismans are theirs, and the price is their own writing."

"What does the label say?"

"The price. Whoever wrote the price stands by the price."

The man tucked the talisman paper under his arm and left. Since opening day, the shop had sold its first item, and that item belonged to Mochi Gate.

By noon another person came in and asked the price of the Green Pod Grass bundles. After hearing it, he squeezed a bundle, noted the soil on the roots, flipped the label over to see whose it was, and left.

Before the Sheep hour, two rogue cultivators left spirit herbs: one brought a bundle of Purple-Skin Root, another a small packet of Eclipta Leaf. At the end of the Horse hour they put the door panels up. Three households were in the cabinet: Mochi Gate in the east compartment, Willow Bank Gate in the west half, the rogues squeezed into the lower compartment.

They left town after the Sheep hour. Qi Qi walked beside Xu Yan carrying the market box, which rattled with every step.

"Sect Master."

"Mm."

"The cabinet's one compartment full."

"One compartment."

"Mochi Gate's in the east, the bamboo splints in the west, the rogues crammed below." Qi Qi hefted the box up. "What'll we do when two compartments are full?"

"Build another cabinet."

"Building a cabinet costs money."

"It comes out of the mountain's accounts."

"So we make nothing, and we pay in."

"Mm."

Qi Qi grinned and said nothing more.

Qian Duoduo walked at the front carrying the empty pot on his shoulder pole. The pot handles clanged against the pole, louder than the market box. He turned and called back, "Everyone down in town's saying Qingya's shop is holding other people's goods."

"It is," Xu Yan said.

"That's good, right?"

"It is."

They reached the Mountain Gate at the Monkey hour. Nie Bo's broom was on the stone steps; where he'd swept was dry, where he hadn't was white.

After the lamps were lit, Xu Yan took the market ledger into the Medicine Hall. The wood stove in the back was burning. Cheng Banshan had one foot up on the stove ledge, narrowing the fire door.

"Elder Cheng, the herbs in the cabinet. I'll read them to you."

"Read."

"Mochi Gate's Green Pod Grass, three bundles."

"A rogue's Stone Lichen, one packet."

"Willow Bank Gate's Black Vine Whisker, two packets."

"A rogue's Purple-Skin Root, one bundle."

"A rogue's Eclipta Leaf, one small packet."

"There's also a stack of talisman paper and a bundle of bamboo splints. Those don't count as medicine."

Cheng Banshan hung the furnace hook on his belt. "Is the Black Vine Whisker dug from the mountains or grown at the water's edge?"

"No origin listed. The labels only have the goods and the price."

"That packet of Stone Lichen, loose or bundled?"

"Bundled."

"Any soil inside?"

"I didn't open it."

"Next time, open one and check. Something that grows on rocks — too much soil adds weight and won't dry properly."

"How many households are in the cabinet?" he went on.

"Three."

"All three willing to wait a year?"

"Mochi Gate is. Willow Bank Gate is. Three of the rogues agreed; the two from the fifth didn't leave anything."

Cheng Banshan closed the fire door a little more and lowered his head, silent for a long while. Xu Yan spread the market ledger on the table and waited.

"The second item, the fourth, plus that small packet." He lifted his head. "That's enough to make one furnace of Qi-Gathering Pills."

"Not the Black Vine Whisker?"

"The Black Vine Whisker needs to be paired with something else, and we don't have that right now. These three first, for one furnace. The rest can wait."

"Will they keep?"

"All three are sun-dried. They'll keep." He tapped the furnace hook against the stove ledge. "If you see them, take them."

Xu Yan acknowledged and closed the ledger.

When he stepped out of the Medicine Hall, the wind came from the west. The kitchen still had a lamp burning; Qian Duoduo was washing bowls, the clink of bowl against bowl, a burst of it, then a pause, then another.

Back at the Accounts Room, he set the market ledger on top of the account books and felt for the key in his inner pocket. The key clinked against the bronze token.