Chapter 243: One Entry at a Time

The rope bit into his shoulder, and Xu Yan shifted the market box up for a better seat. Shao Ming reached to take it. Xu Yan turned his body aside.

"Ten li down the mountain."

"I'll carry it for three."

"The box doesn't leave my hands." Xu Yan said. "The moment I let go, it stops looking like a year's accounts."

Bai Xiaoman followed behind, the market ledger wrapped in blue cloth and held against her chest, both hands never loosening. The mountain path at Mao hour still carried the night's damp, and the stones were a little slick underfoot.

Jiang Wan stood beneath the gate archway. She'd just finished sword practice, the blade held in her hand, the tassel hanging straight down. Nie Bo's broom pushed leaves along the base of the wall, stroke by stroke.

"I'll come down tonight." Jiang Wan said.

"The mountain road's dark."

"The gate stays open until early Hai hour. A box of money, sitting on that table." She switched the sword to her other side. "I'll come down and sit."

Xu Yan glanced at the rope over his shoulder. "There's hemp rope at the market gate. I'll swap for a thicker one once we're in town."

Jiang Wan's gaze lingered on that rope a moment, then she said nothing more and headed toward the East Courtyard.

No one spoke on the way down. Halfway along the ridge, Bai Xiaoman suddenly said, "Sect Master, what if I misread a line today."

"Then we correct it."

"If it's crossed out in the ledger, will that person think I'm cheating them?"

"Show them where you crossed it out." Xu Yan said. "The correction stays visible. That's how people trust you didn't hide anything."

At Chen hour, the market gate opened.

Shao Ming unloaded the door panel and leaned it against the wall, then turned and hung the scale from the door lintel. The hook dropped down, right into the shaft of light falling through the doorway.

Miao Zhong stood outside the panel, both hands tucked into his sleeves, a back basket at his feet. He'd clearly been standing there more than a quarter hour.

"Steward Miao."

"Morning." Miao Zhong lifted his basket. "Back in the Sixth Month I said—on the tenth, I'd watch you settle it, entry by entry."

"That's right." Xu Yan heaved the market box onto the counter. "You watch."

The box was heavy. It landed with a thud, and the counter board flexed under it. Bai Xiaoman pulled a low stool up beside the counter, unwrapped the blue cloth, smoothed the ledger flat, and set the small abacus on her knee.

"Where do I start reading?"

"From the beginning."

"Ink Pool Gate, Miao Zhong." She read slowly, pressing down on each word. "Spirit herbs, eleven bundles, nine sold. Talisman paper, four rolls, four sold."

The abacus clattered for a moment. She announced, "One hundred six."

Xu Yan opened the box. Inside, the spirit stones were stacked in piles of ten, packed tight against each other. The moment the lid came up, the top few in the highest stack wobbled. He counted outward in piles of ten, and at the tenth pile he set aside six more stones in a small stack, pushing them across the counter. "Steward Miao, count it yourself."

Miao Zhong didn't answer. He reached out, broke the ten piles apart, and counted stone by stone, from first to last. After finishing, he counted the six as well, then finally looked up. "One hundred six."

"Sign."

Miao Zhong took the brush and wrote his name beneath that line in the ledger, pressing the tip down once before lifting it.

"Two bundles of spirit herbs are still in the cabinet." Bai Xiaoman said. "Unsold."

"Keep them." Miao Zhong said. "Keep them. I'll bring more next time."

"Next time they'll still be your goods." Xu Yan pulled the lid halfway closed on his side.

Miao Zhong didn't leave. He took half a step back and stood at the side of the counter, watching for the next person.

Zhuo Ying arrived near the end of Chen hour. She set the bundle of dried spirit herbs from her back onto the counter and first listened as Bai Xiaoman read the Willow Bank Gate lines. When she reached the entry from the Second Month, Zhuo Ying reached out and pressed a finger to it. "This line's price—I changed it in the Third Month."

"The old price is crossed out in the ledger. The new one's written below." Bai Xiaoman turned the page around.

"The one below is correct."

The count came out. Zhuo Ying counted it again herself, then signed. She didn't move after. "The rank silver's due before the autumn evaluation. This year's money—couldn't come at a better time."

"Steward Miao said the same." Xu Yan said.

"Everyone says the same." Zhuo Ying lifted her empty basket, then paused. "In the Sixth Month, that Tower Master Jin said this market wouldn't last past the Ninth Month."

Miao Zhong made a sound of acknowledgment from the side but didn't speak.

"Today's the tenth." Zhuo Ying said, then turned and left.

Kuang Lun came a bit later. Of his two old medicine cauldrons, one had sold; the remaining one he carried back. He read his lines once, counted once, signed, and said on his way out, "What didn't sell—I'll bring it back next time."

"Bring it." Xu Yan said.

The rogue cultivators came after.

The one with the bamboo basket came first. He pressed his hand onto the counter—his left hand was missing half a finger—and pointed at the ledger page. "Read my line."

"Man with a bamboo basket, missing half a finger on the left hand." Bai Xiaoman read. "Spirit herbs, five bundles. Three sold, one retrieved as original goods with the price crossed out, one still in the cabinet. Owed thirty."

"Correct." He said. "I said I'd come early."

Xu Yan counted out three stacks and pushed them over. The man took them and counted stone by stone. When he finished, he looked up. "Thirty."

"Is it right?" Bai Xiaoman asked.

"Right." He tucked the spirit stones into his chest, raised his left hand to look at it, and smiled. "No need to write it on my palm this time."

"You'll never need to again."

"Then next time I'll weigh right here, then carry it to the wharf to check against their scale." He lifted his basket. "If the numbers match, I'll come market day after market day."

The third in line carried a medicine basket. After hearing his lines, he suddenly said, "Both bundles sold."

"The ledger says one." Bai Xiaoman turned the page around. "Mugwort, two bundles, one sold."

"I remember both going out."

Xu Yan didn't argue. "The cabinet's open. Look for yourself."

Shao Ming pulled the cabinet door open. On the top shelf inside, a bundle of sun-dried mugwort was tied with hemp rope, a paper tally tucked beneath the cord. The man took the bundle out, hefted it, and put it back.

"One bundle." He said. "I'd gotten it mixed up in my head."

"A misread entry gets crossed out. If the goods are still there, they're still there." Xu Yan said. "This bundle—you can claim it or sell it on any market day this year."

"Not claiming it today."

"Then it stays in the cabinet."

The man couldn't write, so Bai Xiaoman turned the page toward him. Xu Yan felt along the corner of the cabinet and found a small packet of cinnabar, shook some into a dish, mixed it with lamp oil, and pushed it over. "Press a thumbprint."

The man pressed his thumb into the dish, stamped it onto the ledger page, then lifted his hand to look at the finger—red. He thrust it into the nearby water basin before taking his money.

The remaining rogue cultivators came one by one. One older man lost count halfway through and ended up holding one stack too many. Xu Yan reached out and pressed that stack back against the rim of the box. "Sir, that's one stack too many."

"My eyes are going."

"Take your time counting." Xu Yan pushed the stack back. "The money in this box is the money for people's goods. Give one extra stone to one man, and someone else comes up short."

The old man counted again, got the number right, and only then pressed two fingers to the ledger page. The man with animal hides was last—of four hides, three had sold, and the remaining one he pulled out to examine before saying he'd leave it for another market day.

By the time Bai Xiaoman reached the twentieth line or so, her voice was going hoarse. Xu Yan pushed the water bowl over. "Take a break."

"No break." She drank two mouthfuls. "Read it all in one breath. If I break off, I'll skip a line."

Miao Zhong remained standing at the side of the counter. When he saw the stack pressed back onto the rim, he drew his hands out of his sleeves and straightened up.

At Si hour, Qi Qi arrived.

A cloth sack hung over his shoulder—ten bottles of Qi-Gathering Powder on one end, ten Qi-Gathering Pills on the other. Sweat beaded across his forehead from running. "They came out of the furnace on the eighth. I picked them up from the Medicine Hall at Chen hour and ran the whole way without stopping."

The powder went to Qian Duoduo's stall. The pills stayed in the market, sold at the listed price—eight stones each. Buyers came one after another, and the lot sold out in under half an hour. That eighty didn't go into the market box; Xu Yan kept it in the cloth pouch at his waist, and from it he counted out fifteen to hand to Qi Qi.

"One and a half dan of charcoal."

"Weighed at the wharf." Qi Qi tucked the money away. "When I get back, should I leave it outside the market gate, by the wall?"

"By the wall. Someone'll carry it in."

"What about the furnace's alchemy materials?"

Xu Yan glanced back at the counter. "I'll buy them."

From the pouch, he counted out two stacks and dropped them into the market box, then started a new line in the ledger: the tenth day of the Eighth Month—Miao Zhong, spirit herbs, two bundles, purchased by the market as alchemy materials, twenty. He wrote it, then counted the two stacks out of the box and pushed them across the counter.

"Steward Miao."

Miao Zhong stepped over.

"I'm buying these two bundles." Xu Yan said. "Paying today."

"You could put it on your account."

"The market rules say money for goods is paid in full on the tenth day of the Eighth Month, no other day. This is also a sale."

Miao Zhong looked at the line, then at the two stacks of stones, and reached for the brush. He signed a second time at the bottom.

"Entry by entry." He set the brush down, voice very low. "This entry—will it still be in your ledger this time next year?"

"You bring more, I'll buy more."

Miao Zhong smiled faintly, pocketed the twenty into his sleeve, and slung on his basket. At the door he turned back. "Sect Master Xu."

"Yes."

"That box of yours—does it get heavier every year?"

"Heavier." Xu Yan said. "More goods, more money."

At the end of Wu hour, the market had not closed.

The door panel still leaned against the wall, the scale still hung from the lintel, and the market box on the counter sat open, its contents now more than half gone. Shao Ming had changed the water in the basin out back twice; the cinnabar marks on the counter had been wiped away with a cloth.

"More people came today than on a full market day." Shao Ming stood in the doorway and said.

"Money-collecting only lasts half a day." Xu Yan said. "Don't block the door."

A man from town came in carrying a load of firewood on a pole, saying he didn't trust the scale at the wharf and wanted to run it across this one. Shao Ming hooked it up for him, called out the weight, and the man scratched the number on his palm before carrying the firewood off. He didn't pay a single wen, and Xu Yan didn't ask.

Three men approached from outside, all dressed as rogue cultivators, the goods on their backs pulling their shoulders down. They stopped at the door and looked around inside.

"Qingya Market?" The one in front asked. "We heard today's the settling-up day."

"It is."

"We came from elsewhere. Walked all morning." He set his sack down outside the threshold. "For goods brought in today—when's the payout?"

"The tenth day of the Eighth Month, next year." Xu Yan said. "Whatever sells, you get paid in full. Whatever doesn't, you can claim on any market day."

The three exchanged glances. The one in front asked again. "A year?"

"A year."

"...I can wait." He nudged the sack one step through the doorway. "This bag of dried mushrooms—nobody's given me a fair price for it in half a year."

Bai Xiaoman opened a fresh page, dipped the brush, and wrote on the first line: the tenth day of the Eighth Month—man with a sack, dried mushrooms, one bag. When she finished, she turned the paper toward him. "Are you carrying anything else?"

"An old scale weight."

"The scale weight goes further down." She finished writing, then looked up. "Can you read? Do you recognize it?"

"Don't know many characters." He reached out and pressed his hand to the paper; the fingerprint landed in the ink, light. "This'll do."

In Wei hour, two carrying poles came through the market gate.

Qian Duoduo carried empty pots and two bags of spirit rice, one end high and one low, his shoulders skewed to one side. Du Xiaochuan followed behind, a pole across his shoulders with that half-dan load of charcoal from the wall at one end and the two bundles of spirit herbs at the other.

"Sect Master." Qian Duoduo lowered his load to the base of the wall. "Two pots, sold clean through. The last ladle went out right around midday. The spirit rice—I replenished at the grain shop, two pots' worth."

"Charcoal was weighed at the wharf." Du Xiaochuan set his pole down. "Half a dan more for one and a half total—fifteen stones. Qi Qi told me the number."

"Both of you head back up the mountain."

"I'll carry the pots back." Qian Duoduo hooked the pots onto one end of his pole. "Tonight's pot—"

"Not making it tonight."

Qian Duoduo adjusted the pole on his shoulder, then stopped. "The two kids want to come down."

"Don't let them. The mountain road's dark."

"I'll say there are strangers down the mountain at night."

"Right."

"Then I'll tell them—the lanterns hang in the gate, and next market day I'll bring them down in the daylight to see."

"Next market day." Xu Yan said. "Next market day, in the daylight."

"Next market day." Qian Duoduo repeated the phrase, then left with the pots and rice.

In Shen hour, the last few stacks in the market box were counted through once more. Two rogue cultivators still hadn't come. Bai Xiaoman closed the ledger and pressed both hands on the cover.

"There are still two names with empty lines under them."

"We wait."

In You hour, someone came down from the mountain.

The shadow arrived first, falling long and slanting across the ground at the north end of Market Street. Jiang Wan walked without haste, sword in hand. She stopped at the market entrance, looked in at the open box, and her gaze dropped to the ledger spread out on the counter.

"Still open."

"Two still haven't come." Xu Yan said.

Jiang Wan stepped inside, leaned her sword against the wall by the counter, and sat down on the long bench, directly facing the table.

Qi Qi pulled lanterns from the cabinet, opened them one by one, threaded them onto a thin hemp cord, and lit them with a fire starter. The paper glowed yellow in a patch first, then the whole thing brightened.

The first lantern went up under the door lintel, its light catching the lower edge of the plaque.