Chapter 203 — The Trustworthy Old Man
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 2 of 4
The Imperial Preceptor sighed. "A phantom leaves no trace; to steal heaven and pass the sun, why need he undo any seal? He could pass straight through it without touching a single thread of it. The vault is indeed empty."
No one believed him.
The Imperial Preceptor opened the seal and pushed the door in. The room that had held all manner of precious things stood utterly empty, cleaned out to the last speck.
And on the wall facing the door, where a painting had hung — the Sword God Bearing His Sword, painted by the crown prince of the kingdom of Tiantu in years past — that painting was also nowhere to be found.
In its place hung a page of writing so crooked and so hideously ugly it was a shock: "Imperial Preceptor Jingping, I have taken back my leg, and I accept with thanks all the treasures you hoarded. I took very good care of your servants, so no need to worry. Oh, and I slept in your bed, and when I woke up I left a nice heap of dung in it. I also brewed you a pot of fragrant tea in your study. Our grievances are settled — no need to thank me!"
The Imperial Preceptor's face darkened. He whirled and hurried to the bedchamber. When he threw back the covers, the reek was overwhelming; he pinched his nostrils and waved his hand. "Old Fu, throw it out! Throw it all out!"
Old Fu hastily rolled up the quilt and the mattress too, but the whole bed still stank. Old Fu asked, "Master, must we throw out the bed as well?" "Throw it out!"
The Imperial Preceptor waved his hand and hurried off to the study, where a rank, urinous odor hung in the air. There was a yellowish liquid in the teapot, clearly not tea.
With a sweep of his sleeve, the Imperial Preceptor sent the teapot and cups flying out the window, his face livid. "Wretch! Taking back his own leg I could pardon, but he eats, drinks, shits, and sleeps in my mansion and ruins my peace! Old Fu, prepare new tea things and fresh bedding."
Old Fu hesitated for a moment. "Master, there isn't much money left in the house..."
The Imperial Preceptor was taken aback, then mused, "The emperor's rewards won't arrive for several more days. My salary is drawn once a month, but it isn't settled until the start of the month. Is this month's salary already gone?"
Old Fu said, "When you set out this time, you took more than half your salary with you. Of what was left, modest gifts had to be given when the princes and ministers marked their birthdays, and gifts when their households gained children. A few days ago the Empress Dowager in the palace had her birthday, and I prepared a gift — but the palace still found it shabby."
The Imperial Preceptor's head ached. "And now that the Prince of Zhenbei has passed away, I must prepare another gift. Is the house truly out of money? Is there anything left to pawn?"
"Well..." Old Fu hesitated and made no answer. The Imperial Preceptor looked around. The house was not small, yet it held only a few pieces of furniture — nothing that could be pawned.
He had always held that dallying with playthings saps ambition, and so his food, clothing, and daily expenditures had all been kept to the barest minimum, with no antiques to speak of. What he collected tended to be strange oddities — the Lame Elder's divine leg, the Tiantu crown prince's painting, and such — and those very objects had been stolen away by the Shadow Thief, who had slipped into his house.
"Can I draw my salary in advance?"
Old Fu asked, "Master, would you throw away all sense of face?"
The Imperial Preceptor hesitated. "Could I borrow a bit?"
Old Fu shook his head. "There's a war on, and the gentlemen who are close to you have all marched off with troops and are away from home. Besides, you've already borrowed from them many times without ever repaying — people would speak ill of you. With the heads of their households away, who would lend money to me if I went calling? Unless you went yourself."