The Royal Court's storehouse was situated beneath a dirt mound behind the Wolf Tail Banner. It was surrounded by three wooden palisades, and in front of the gate stood six armored cavalrymen on guard. Anyone passing through had to dismount; not even a Commander of a Thousand was allowed to ride in.
By the time the convoy arrived, the sky had just begun to darken.
Four ornate carriages stopped at the storehouse entrance, their iron-clad wheels pressing into the hard earth.
Before the thick felt covers of the carriages were even lifted, the lamps inside the storehouse had already been lit.
The storehouse official, Tsagaan, emerged from the gates, draped in a black sheepskin robe. Two strings of copper keys hung from his waist, jingling as he walked.
He was followed by four clerks: two holding leather ledgers, and two carrying wooden trays. The trays contained fine linen, bone rulers, silver needles, and clay-sealing knives.
Bayan handed over the evaluation documents, bowing deeply.
"Lord Tsagaan, the transit station has inspected the goods. The cargo is complete, the glazed glass is undamaged, and the silk and ironware are all accounted for. One jar of strong liquor cracked on the road, which has already been recorded as a loss."
Tsagaan took the documents, closed the ledger before even finishing flipping through it.
"The transit station says it's complete, so the storehouse must believe it?"
Bayan's throat tightened.
Uliji stood by the carriage, his hand still resting on his horsewhip. Hearing this, he didn't even dare to twitch the whip.
Tsagaan raised his chin slightly.
"Open the boxes."
The inner tent servants stepped forward to lift the felt, and the storehouse clerks carried the wooden chests down one by one, placing them on a long table. The sealing ropes were inspected three times before being cut with the clay-sealing knife.
The first chest of glazed glass was opened.
Tsagaan picked up a glazed cup, first rotating it halfway against the light, then using the fine linen to wipe the rim, and finally using the bone ruler to measure the width of the base.
"The base is off by half a fen."
The clerk bowed his head and noted it down.
Bayan grew anxious.
"My Lord, Daqian goods are handmade, half a fen won't affect its use."
Tsagaan raised a hand, stopping him.
"Are you teaching the storehouse how to receive goods?"
Bayan shut his mouth.
The second cup was picked up. Tsagaan used a silver needle to probe the embossed pattern on the cup's body, then lightly tapped the cup wall with his fingernail.
"The sound is uneven. Put it aside."
The third cup.
"There is dust on the rim."
The fourth cup.
"The bottom pattern is crooked."
For every flaw he pointed out, the clerk beside him made a note.
Uliji felt a chill run down his spine.
These items had been wrapped in wool and cushioned with soft cloth all along the journey.
Two old slaves had died under the carriage wheels without daring to let the chests tip over even once. Yet, upon arriving at the storehouse, the slightest deviation could be deemed a crime.
After inspecting the glazed glass, Tsagaan went to check the strong liquor.
The jars of liquor were laid out one by one. The clay seals bore the Daqian wax stamp, and the outside was wrapped in straw ropes.
When the clerk counted to the nineteenth jar, he stopped.
"Should be twenty jars, actually nineteen."
Uliji hurriedly stepped forward.
"My Lord, the cracked jar was recorded as a loss at the transit station; it's on the document."
Tsagaan opened the ledger, his fingertip tapping on that line of text.
"One jar cracked, the whereabouts of the liquor unknown."
Uliji's throat felt tight.
"The carriage got stuck in a black water ditch on the road, the jar cracked, and all the liquor leaked into the mud."
Tsagaan tossed the ledger onto the table.
"Leaked into the mud? Who saw it?"
Uliji looked at Bayan.
Bayan lowered his head even further.
Tsagaan sneered.
"Escorting military supplies, short one jar of strong liquor. According to storehouse rules, the escorting cavalrymen receive twenty lashes, and the Centurion an extra ten."
Uliji's chest felt tight.
He wanted to bring up Temur, but this was the Royal Court's storehouse, and Tsagaan managed the intake accounts. A shortage on the books, if reported up, would be considered embezzlement.
"Drag them away."
Two storehouse guards stepped forward and pinned down the accompanying cavalrymen. The whip cracked open in the courtyard.
Not even the leather armor could block it; after the first lash, the cavalryman was already gritting his teeth, unable to kneel steadily.
Uliji was pressed against a wooden post, taking ten lashes to his shoulders and back. The pain made his teeth chatter.
He didn't dare cry out in grievance.
If he did, more lashes could be added.
At that moment, footsteps came from outside the storehouse.
Sukh, the Commander of a Thousand, walked in.
He was tall and burly, his outer robe trimmed with a whole wolf skin. Behind him, two personal guards carried a small wooden box.
Seeing him enter, Tsagaan's tone softened a bit.
"Commander Sukh, was this batch of goods escorted into the Royal Court by those under your tent?"
Sukh glanced at Uliji and casually tossed a gold biscuit onto the wooden tray.
"The spring mud on the road is soft; cracking a jar of liquor is a common occurrence."
Tsagaan didn't touch the gold biscuit.
Sukh then had his personal guard open the wooden box. Inside, ten gold biscuits were neatly arranged, along with two pieces of fine Daqian silk.
"The storehouse accounts are hard to manage, I understand. Lord Tsagaan follows the rules, and the entire Royal Court respects that."
Only then did Tsagaan reach out and close the lid of the wooden box.
"Twenty jars of strong liquor, all accounted for in the storehouse. The cracked jar will be recorded as resealed in transit; the storehouse will not pursue the matter."
The clerk bowed his head and amended the ledger.
Uliji lay by the wooden post, his back burning, but his heart felt even more suffocated.
Two old slaves had died, he had taken these ten lashes, and in the end, the credit went to Sukh, with the accounts left spotlessly clean.
Sukh walked over to the goods table, picked up a glazed cup, and examined it.
"This batch of Daqian goods was escorted into the Royal Court by the outer camp under my request to Lord Temur. Although there was some loss on the way, at least it didn't delay the Great Consort's enjoyment."
Tsagaan nodded.
"The Commander is capable in his duties; I will make a note of it in the supplementary intake ledger."
"Then I'll trouble you."
As Sukh turned around, Uliji was still kneeling on the ground.
He glanced down.
"Go back and get some wound medicine; don't embarrass yourself at the storehouse entrance."
Uliji swallowed his blood.
"Thank you, Commander."
The glazed cups were quickly divided into three portions.
The twelve with the finest embossing were sent to the Great Consort's rear tent, the six with slightly off-center bases were given to the Second Consort, and the remaining two were kept as Royal Court rewards.
Inside the rear tent, silver lamps burned sheep fat, and felt rugs were laid three layers thick. The royal nobles and noblewomen gathered around the long table, upon which sat the twelve glazed cups.
The Great Consort Alan sat in the main seat, a gold ring on her finger, lightly tapping the body of a cup.
"Twelve cups. The main tent keeps six, four for the Prince's autumn hunting banquet, and the remaining two to reward those with merit."
As soon as she finished speaking, the Second Consort Oyun smiled.
"Great Consort, distinguished guests from all tribes will attend the autumn hunting banquet; how can four cups be enough? If the main tent keeps six, others might think the Royal Court is stingy."
Alan looked up.
"You also received six cups."
Oyun gathered her sleeves.
"The bases of my six cups are off-center; the storehouse official picked them out. Displaying them would make people laugh. The Great Consort takes the good ones and gives me the defective ones. If word of this reaches the Left Tribe, my family might ask if the Royal Court distributes rewards based on the strength of the maternal tribe."
The Third Consort Tsetseg chimed in as well.
"Sister Oyun, don't use the Left Tribe to pressure people. Last winter, your brother owed the Royal Court three hundred sheep, and the debt still hasn't been cleared."
Oyun turned her head.
"Are you fit to mention debts? Of the horses your family sent, five out of thirty were lame. The horse official didn't report it at the time; who was it that slipped him two bags of gold dust?"
Tsetseg slammed her tea bowl down.
"Say that again!"
Alan slammed the table.
"Enough!"
The tent fell silent.
Alan pointed at the glazed cups.
"These cups are not just cups; they are face. Who gets how many, the people outside the Royal Court are watching."
"The Left Tribe sent fewer soldiers this year, so receiving defective cups is according to the rules; Tsetseg's family provided horses for the autumn hunt, so rewarding them with a good cup is also according to the rules."
"The main tent keeping six is the Great Consort's dignity, and even more so, according to the rules."
With every sentence she spoke, the female official beside her made a note in the sheepskin ledger.
In the Royal Court's rear tent, gold and silver jewelry could be exchanged privately, and cattle and sheep could be allocated secretly, but for these foreign treasures, every single piece had to be recorded with a name.
Whoever received a cup, their tribe gained a bit more face.
One cup less, and their seating would be moved further back.
That night, the female official led the maidservants in wiping the cups and storing them in the cabinet.
The little maid Naran was quite young, her hands still smelling of sheep's milk. As she wiped the third cup with a soft cloth, her finger left a smudge on the glass.
Seeing this, the matron raised her hand and slapped her across the face.
"How dare you touch precious items with your filthy hands?"
Naran fell to her knees, so panicked that her words tumbled out in a mess.
"This servant will wipe it clean, this servant will wipe it again!"
The matron snatched the cup away and presented it to Alan.
Alan stared at the fingerprint for a moment.
"Punish her by sending her to the flocks on the North Slope."
Naran froze.
Herding sheep on the North Slope was a death sentence in winter; the highest number of casualties happened there. Once sent, a servant's name would be crossed off the rear tents' registry, and they would never be allowed to return to the camp for the rest of their life.
"My lady, this servant is only thirteen..."
The matron clamped a hand over her mouth, and two sturdy maidservants dragged the girl out.
The wind howled fiercely outside the tent, quickly drowning Naran's cries beneath the neighing of horses.
Inside the tent, the glass cup was wiped clean once more and placed on a silver tray.
The next day, a small banquet was held in the royal court.
Sukh sat in a subordinate seat, holding a glass cup filled with strong liquor from Great Qian.
Alan arranged six fine cups before the prince's seat, and the nobles of various tribes took turns raising their glasses.
They praised the skilled craftsmanship of the Great Qian artisans, praised the successful opening of the Right Tribe's trade route, and praised Sukh for his meritorious service in escorting the goods.
Someone brought up the autumn hunt.
"This year we head to Black Stone Beach; there are plenty of gazelles there."
"Gazelles are nothing. I heard a white deer has appeared in the north. Whoever shoots it will surely receive a heavy reward from the prince."
"Sukh now manages the trade route and has made great contributions. He will likely be seated in the front ranks for the autumn hunt."
Sukh drained his cup, the strong liquor burning down his throat, and he laughed loudly.
"Thank you all for your auspicious words! If I truly get to sit in the front ranks, I, Sukh, will cover all the wine for your tents!"
The crowd erupted in laughter.
Cups clinked together, the crisp sounds echoing back and forth within the tent.
On that same day, in the royal court's penal labor camp, Amur was using a wooden shovel to clear horse manure.
He had been assigned to the eastern stables. With over three hundred horses, it had to be cleaned twice a day.
The manure piles accumulated from early morning until afternoon, the stench so overpowering it ruined one's appetite.
The overseer stood at the gate of the fence, gripping a wooden club.
"Hurry up! Anyone who dares to slack off gets no soup tonight!"
Amur bent over to shovel the dung. The wound on his shoulder had not yet healed, and the ragged cloth stuck to his flesh, sending a jolt of pain every time he raised his arm.
Next to the manure pile was a rubbish pit filled with broken pottery shards, rotting leather cords, ruined wooden spoons, and other debris cleared out from the rear tents.
As Amur thrust his wooden shovel into the dung pile, something pricked him near his foot.
He looked down, brushed aside the grass ashes, and picked up a tiny shard of broken glass.
The fragment was only the size of a fingernail, its jagged edges sharp. Coated in dust, it still caught a faint glimmer of light.
He wiped away the dirt, but the edge sliced open his finger, and a bead of blood welled up.
It hurt.
But he did not throw it away.
This very material had killed Bagen, killed Khar, sent Naran to the North Slope, and allowed Sukh to take a seat among the nobles.
Amur tucked the glass shard into his shirt, hiding it securely against his torn sheepskin robe.
This was the first time in his life he had ever touched something belonging to the nobles.
It was also the first time in his life he held something in his hand capable of slicing through flesh.
...
At night, the smell of alcohol was heavy in Sukh's tent.
He used two jars of strong liquor he had held back to entertain his colleagues. Outside the tent, a whole sheep was roasting, and personal guards walked back and forth carrying silver trays.
Uliji, with medical bandages wrapped around his back, knelt at the entrance of the tent to pour wine.
Sukh was so drunk his face was flushed red. He slapped the table and laughed uproariously.
"The prince has already approved it! After the autumn hunt, I will receive the seal of a Myriarch!"
Another wave of congratulations echoed through the tent.
Someone raised a glass cup.
"Myriarch Sukh, do not forget about us in the future!"
Sukh picked up his cup, the liquid sloshing to the brim.
"I will not forget! This trade route will last a long time. The goods of the Great Qian people, the horses of the grassland people, whoever guards this line gets to eat meat!"
