Chapter 11: The Audit

Fast.

Right.

I could do fast.

I grabbed her hips and dragged her back to the edge of the bed, and Ayla laughed into the sheets like I’d just told the best joke in the world. Then she stopped laughing, because I leaned down and kissed my way from the back of her neck all the way down her spine, slow, one bump at a time, and she started shaking.

"That is not fast," she gasped.

"You started it."

"I start. You finish. Hurry."

Yeah, okay. I hurried.

And somewhere in there, with her gold hair spilling off the bed and her nails tearing at the sheets and Tae-man still yelling my name down the walkway like a lost goat, the coal in my belly went whoomp—

[Harmony established: Ayla.]

Warm. Wild. Totally different from Yeon-hee’s. Yeon-hee’s yin was soft and slippery, like warm water. Ayla’s felt like desert wind. Hot and dry and fast, whipping around my dantian like it was looking for a fight.

God.

I was so lost in it I didn’t hear the lock.

I didn’t hear the door slide.

I only felt the cold air from the walkway on my back.

Ayla felt it too. She went still. We both turned our heads at the same time.

Hong Seo-rin was standing in the doorway.

Ring of keys in one hand. Ledger in the other. Inn master keys — of course she had them, she keeps the books for this dump. A folded talisman message was sticking out of the ledger.

She looked at us.

At me, very naked, very much in the middle of something.

At Ayla, flat on her stomach with her face flushed and her hair everywhere and her hips still lifted.

We all froze.

I waited for her to scream. Or gasp. Or turn around. Or drop something. Normal person stuff.

Seo-rin did none of it.

She stepped inside. Slid the door shut behind her. Leaned back against the frame, crossed her arms over her ledger, and tilted her head a little. Like she was looking at a column of numbers that didn’t add up yet.

"A talisman came for you at the front counter," she said to Ayla. Completely calm. "From your husband. Something about his caravan account being short." Her eyes moved to me. "I knocked. Twice. Nobody answered."

"Seo-rin," I managed. "Can you maybe—"

"Mm." She didn’t move. "No."

I looked down at Ayla, waiting for her to explode. Grab her sword. Throw something.

Ayla was looking at Seo-rin.

And she was biting her lip.

Her whole body had gone tight under my hands. Not scared tight. The other kind. She was breathing faster than before. A lot faster.

"Bookkeeper," Ayla said, low and husky. Her accent was thicker than I’d ever heard it. "You are going to stand there?"

"I’m going to stand here."

"And count?"

Seo-rin lifted one eyebrow. Flicked a bead on her abacus.

Clack.

"Consider it an audit," she said.

[Target: Hong Seo-rin.]

[Desire +25.]

Twenty-five. That was the biggest jump I’d ever seen from her. Bigger than the gate. Bigger than the hot spring.

And Ayla... Ayla lost her mind.

She grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand down to her hip, pressing it there, and pushed back into me harder than she had all morning. Looking at Seo-rin the whole time. Not at me. At HER.

"Then watch," she breathed. "Watch good."

I’m not gonna lie to you.

I’ve done a lot of crazy shit in two days. Stairs in the dark. A widow on a broken stool. A physician in a hot spring.

Nothing was crazier than this.

A bookkeeper with an abacus leaning against the door, cool as ice, watching every move with those sharp eyes. And a blonde swordswoman underneath me, moaning louder and louder like she wanted the bookkeeper to write every sound down.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

I swear Seo-rin flicked a bead every time Ayla moaned.

And I swear Ayla got louder because of it.

[Desire +15.]

That one was Seo-rin again. Her face hadn’t moved. Not one muscle. But her cheeks had gone a little pink. And her knuckles had gone white on the ledger.

"MU-JIN!" Tae-man’s voice, right outside. "I SWEAR TO HEAVEN, IF YOU’RE IN THE BLONDE’S ROOM—"

Seo-rin didn’t even turn her head.

"Your friend’s right," she said. Clack. "You have about one-fifth of an hour."

"Then stop counting," I growled.

"No."

Ayla laughed. Then she didn’t laugh. Then she grabbed the sheets with both fists and buried her face in the pillow and screamed something in a language I didn’t speak, and that was it for both of us.

Afterward, Ayla just lay there. Boneless. Sweating. Smiling into the pillow like a cat in the sun.

I was half dead.

Seo-rin pushed off the doorframe. Walked over. Set the talisman message very neatly on Ayla’s bedside table, next to the brass cup.

Then she looked at me. Down at me. Took her time.

"Hm," she said.

"...Hm?"

"I’ve revised my estimate." Clack. "Of your value."

Ayla turned her head on the pillow and grinned up at her. Lazy. Wicked.

"Bookkeeper," she said. "Next time, you put down the beads. You come closer. We count together."

Seo-rin looked at her for a long moment.

For the first time since I’d met her, she didn’t have an answer ready.

Then she turned and walked to the door.

"Not today," she said. "My night. My room. That was the deal."

She slid the door open, stepped out, and nearly walked straight into Tae-man, who had his fist raised to bang on it.

He froze.

Looked at her. Looked past her. Into the room. At the bed. At me. At Ayla.

His mouth fell open.

"Good morning, Gong Tae-man," Seo-rin said, and walked past him down the walkway without looking back.

Clack.

We ran.

I don’t think Tae-man said a single word the whole way to the ferry. He just kept looking at me sideways. Then looking at the river. Then looking at me again.

Finally, halfway across, with the academy towers coming up over the trees, he said it.

"Bro."

"Don’t."

"Bro. The BOOKKEEPER?"

"She just watched."

"She just WATCHED?"

"It’s complicated."

He grabbed the rail of the ferry with both hands and stared up at the sky like he was asking the gods what he did wrong in his past life.

"I’ve been in Hangju my whole life," he said. "My whole life. Nothing. Not one widow. Not one bored wife. Not even a goose that likes me. You’ve been at that inn two days."

"I know."

"How?"

I couldn’t tell him. Well, Tae-man, there’s a voice in my head called the Ultimate MILF System, and also I’m technically a dead guy from Seoul.

"Natural talent," I said.

He punched me in the arm.

It didn’t hurt. That was the weird part. Tae-man hits like a mule, and I barely felt it. My arm just... took it. Like the punch slid off something warm underneath my skin.

Two Harmonies. Desert wind and warm water, swirling around in my belly.

I hadn’t refined either of them. Not really. But even raw, even just sitting there, they were doing something.

Huh.

We made it with about three breaths to spare.

The outer courtyard was packed. Forty disciples in groups, everybody in practice whites, everybody nervous. Three instructors sat on a raised platform under a canopy. And off to the side, in the shaded viewing pavilion where rich donors sit, was a woman in a navy scholar’s robe buttoned all the way up to her throat.

Wire spectacles. Strict bun. Perfect posture.

Madam Gwak Ji-yeon.

She saw me. Her face did absolutely nothing.

Then she lifted her teacup, very slowly, and took a sip.

God. I was getting hard in the middle of the academy courtyard from a woman drinking tea.

Gi-chul was standing in our spot, white as rice paper, holding the scroll. When he saw us, he flinched so hard he almost dropped it.

"Y-you came," he squeaked.

"Your mom put our names back," Tae-man said. "So yeah. We came."

Gi-chul glanced at the pavilion. At his mother. Then at me. Something passed over his face — confusion, suspicion, a kid trying to do math he didn’t want the answer to.

Then he looked away fast.

"Group Seven!" an instructor called. "Three Willows Formation!"

We walked out.

I’ll be honest. I barely remembered the formation. The old Mu-jin knew it in his bones. I knew it from watching Gi-chul draw it.

But my body remembered. And this morning, my body felt different. Lighter. Hotter. Like there was more air in my lungs than usual.

We moved. Three swords. Three angles. Willow branches bending in the wind.

I didn’t do anything amazing. I’m not some genius. I’m Third-rate. I almost tripped on the second turn.

But I didn’t trip. And my sword didn’t shake. And when we finished and held the final pose, I wasn’t even out of breath.

The instructors wrote things down. Gi-chul looked like he wanted to throw up from relief. Tae-man was grinning like an idiot.

And then I noticed her.

The instructor on the far end of the platform. The one who hadn’t written anything. The one who’d just been watching me the whole time, chin on her hand.

[Target Detected.]

Oh no.

Thick hips. A practice uniform that was technically regulation. Technically. A tight black sash cinched around a waist that made the whole outfit look illegal. Long black hair in a high tail. Lips painted dark red. Mid-thirties, maybe. And a voice — I’d heard it in lectures — that made you forget what a sword even was.

Instructor Cha Mi-ran.

The woman Gi-chul paints in his room.

She tilted her head at me. Slowly.

Then she stood up, tapped the edge of the platform with her rolled-up scroll, and said in that voice:

"Baek Mu-jin. My office. After the presentations."

Tae-man made a tiny strangled noise next to me.

Gi-chul looked like he was going to cry for a completely different reason.

And in the pavilion, Madam Gwak set her teacup down. Very, very carefully.

Click.