Chapter 5: Bathwater

In the morning the Hall let Chuhe go back to work, and that was a second kind of test.

Elder Pei's order was plain.

The bearer would carry water to the Sword Yard as always, with the blade at his side.

Then everyone could watch the sect's great treasure follow a water carrier around.

Chuhe took up his pole and buckets and walked out under the stares.

Hanjue walked behind him with the sword on his back.

He had not stopped looking at things since breakfast.

He looked at the chickens, and at a woman drying persimmons, and at the stream, with his mouth a little open.

"What is that?" he asked, ten times before noon.

"A persimmon."

"What is that?"

"A bucket, Hanjue. You've seen me carry one for two days."

"I did not look at it properly."

Chuhe smiled to himself and ducked his head so no one would see.

The Sword Yard was loud that morning.

A repair crew was mending a broken practice rack in the corner.

A smith in a leather apron stood at a portable anvil with a hammer.

Clang.

Chuhe was dipping a ladle when he felt Hanjue stop dead behind him.

Clang.

The silver man had gone the color of ash.

His hand was clamped on the hilt over his shoulder, and his eyes were fixed on the anvil without seeing it.

Clang.

"Hanjue?"

His whole body flinched at the next stroke.

Chuhe dropped the ladle and took him by the elbow.

He walked him out of the yard and around the back of the water shed, where the noise was a dull thump.

Hanjue leaned against the wall with his eyes closed.

"What is it?" Chuhe asked.

"I do not know." He was breathing like a runner. "It is the sound. It is the sound of a hammer."

"You've heard hammers before."

"Not on me." He laughed, a thin shaky laugh. "That is foolish. I am a sword. I should like a hammer."

Chuhe took his cold hand and pressed it between both of his own.

"You don't have to like it," he said. "We'll stay away from the yard."

By evening, Hanjue had recovered enough to eat four dumplings and a bowl of soup.

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