Chapter 12: Poor Technique

His bargaining made Chenxue’s head ache. She decided to speak plainly. “With skills like yours? You were awful this time! I nearly fell asleep, and you want more money?”

Yanfan opened his mouth, looking unusually hurt. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, then said with great sincerity, “I was afraid of hurting you. You’re delicate, Miss. Whenever I used a little strength, you frowned. When you frowned, I didn’t dare move, so I seemed slow. When I was slow, you got sleepy. You can’t blame me for all of it.”

He sounded even more aggrieved as he added, “Holding back was hard on me too, Miss.”

Chenxue stared at him. She took a deep breath and decided not to argue with this master of logic any longer, or she would die of anger beside the rockery.

“I. Don’t. Care.” She punctuated each word with a poke to his chest. “Next time, come whenever I call. If you’re late, I’ll dock every coin of your wages.”

She withdrew her hand and walked away. After a few steps, she even began humming a light, playful tune popular in Qingyang City, quite unlike her usual dignified manner.

Yanfan watched her yellow figure disappear through the osmanthus trees. The last notes drifted back on the wind, then vanished as she rounded the rockery.

He looked down at the bulging bag inside his robe: twenty-five spirit stones, twenty owed from last time and five for today. “A loss, a real loss,” he muttered, tying it securely. “Twenty before, five now. Outdoor work should cost more than indoor work. There ought to be a thirty-percent risk allowance…”

He brushed the grass from his clothes and picked up a plain blue-green hair ribbon she had dropped while fixing her hair. Little osmanthus blossoms were embroidered on it. He slipped it into his sleeve.

On the way back, his thoughts wandered. The new clothes were comfortable, their soft fabric much more breathable than his old coarse jacket. The two thick mattresses had felt good the moment he lay down on them.

“If I’d bought those myself, they would have cost several years’ wages,” he calculated, kicking a pebble aside. “Song said they were free, so the young miss must have paid out of her allowance. She tore one old robe and replaced it with two new ones…”

“Equipment wear-and-tear allowance,” he concluded aloud, nodding. That classification made sense, more or less. The young miss was the one using the equipment, so it was reasonable for her to cover its wear.

As for the five spirit stones, he touched the hard bag against his chest, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’ll have to perform better next time and try to get the original price back.”

* * *

Chenxue hummed her way along the corridor, her steps lighter than she realized. She passed through the moon gate and into her courtyard, where Qiutang sat beneath the eaves with a basket of sewing. At the sight of her mistress, the maid nearly pricked herself.

“Miss, why is your hair such a mess?” She set down her work and came over, studying the crooked bun. “The pin is straight, but your hair looks as though someone’s been rubbing it.”

Chenxue touched it and walked inside without changing expression. “I just dealt with him. It got mussed. Comb it for me again.”

Qiutang followed, seated her at the dressing table, and undid the precarious bun. Her hand paused on the comb.

“Miss,” she said carefully, gently working through the ends while watching Chenxue in the mirror, “did you go to fight him, or… did you do something else?”