Chapter 19: The Scabbard

The next morning, Chenxue made a rare trip out. After days shut inside recovering from her illness, she felt her bones were rusting. Qiutang mentioned that a silk shop on East Street had a new shipment of cloud brocade, so Chenxue changed into a pale-purple dress, added a silver butterfly hair ornament, and took her maid out.

East Street was busy in daylight. Shops selling spiritual pills, talismans, and fragments of magic artifacts stood comfortably among ordinary grain stores and clothing shops. Chenxue visited two silk merchants, chose several bolts for delivery to the estate, bought osmanthus cakes and chestnut pastries, and paused at a jeweler’s to look at jade earrings. Qiutang carried the parcels, silently calculating the month’s expenses without daring to look distressed.

At the end of the street, Chenxue stopped. A lean middle-aged man had spread old goods on a drab cloth at a corner stall. Several scabbards lay among them: carved ebony, sharkskin, and one of purple sandalwood inlaid with silver-wire clouds, particularly striking among the scrap.

She crouched and picked up the sandalwood scabbard. It was satisfyingly heavy; the silver clouds wound around it in workmanship finer than her dressing case.

“A discerning eye, miss!” The seller brightened. “This came from a proper spiritual-artifact shop. It once held a spiritual sword. See the silver? It contains mithril and nourishes sword qi.”

“A scabbard can nourish sword qi?” She turned it over.

“A spiritual sword entering its scabbard is like a person coming home,” he whispered mysteriously. “The formation inside nurtures sword intent. Given time, it can increase a sword’s power by thirty percent. Ordinary smiths couldn’t make it. I bought it from a disciple of a northern sword-cultivating family who needed spirit stones urgently.”

Her fingers stopped on the silver clouds. She remembered the sword in her dream: Wuyan. She had sold sword and scabbard together for three hundred spirit stones. Its blade was dark and dull, its hilt wrapped in worn pale leather, looking like scrap iron. Later, its owner had shattered her skull with one strike.

She shivered and pulled herself back to the present. The scabbard’s silver was evenly worked, and its lining of unknown soft leather felt warm and fine. It did not seem ordinary.

“How much?” she asked, resuming her customary critical expression.

The seller held up three fingers. “Three hundred spirit stones.”

She nearly struck him with it. “Three hundred? Why don’t you rob someone? A beginner’s spiritual sword at the big West Street shop costs only two hundred. You want three hundred for a scabbard? Can it fly by itself or cut people down?”

He shrank back but tried to stand firm. “Miss, it’s mithril…”

“Can you eat mithril? A few silver wires and you sell it as a family heirloom? Why not inlay all your scrap with it and set up outside the city lord’s residence?”

Qiutang watched her mistress quarrel in the street, arms full of parcels, her face saying, Here we go again. Passersby stopped to watch. A child pointed and told an adult, “That lady is fierce.”

The seller flushed, but her dress marked her as wealthy and he dared not offend her too much. He forced a smile. “If you really want it, we can discuss the price. It is good merchandise. Feel the lining…”

“I don’t want it.” Chenxue put it down, dusted her hands, and walked away without looking back.

After two steps he called, “Miss, wait! One hundred and fifty! Take it for one hundred and fifty spirit stones! I’m selling at a loss!”

She hesitated. Qiutang whispered, “If you really want it, that’s cheaper than the West Street shop. Even a plain scabbard there costs eighty…”

“Who said I wanted it?” Chenxue walked faster without turning. “Why would I buy a scabbard? I don’t even have a sword!”

“But you looked at it for so long…”

“The workmanship was decent. Can’t I look?”