My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 3: A Bookkeeper

Jiang Wan passed three people beneath the low pines at the bend in the mountain path.

All three coming downhill wore red outer robes. The one in front had empty hands, the middle one had his arms crossed, and the last one carried a rattan box in both hands, glancing down at it with every step. Jiang Wan stepped half a pace to the side of the path, her boot sinking into pine needles.

The one in front stopped and gave her a smile.

She didnʼt answer, and she didnʼt stop. The three of them went past her shoulder, the hems of their red robes scraping over the loose stones on the path. A dozen or so steps beyond, she heard someone behind her say something, but the wind tore the words apart. She didnʼt look back.

From there on, it was all stone steps. The hem of her gray clothes was caked with dirt, the tops of her boots ringed with yellow mud, and the old cloth strap that held her sword had rubbed a red mark into the hollow of her shoulder. Sheʼd walked the whole official road through the night without resting. Sheʼd left Linchuan City at the You Hour on the first day of the sixth month, reached Luoxia Town at the Mao Hour this morning, before the mule carts at the town gate had even been hitched. Sheʼd gotten a bowl of water at a tea stall. The stall owner got a clear look at her face, hesitated, and then his words came out tangled: ”The mountain... things on the mountain arenʼt peaceful today.”

She didnʼt ask. She paid for the water and headed north.

Ten li of mountain road. She didnʼt walk slowly, but the higher she climbed, the heavier her feet felt. On the morning of the twentieth of the fifth month, her master had sat on the back courtyardʼs doorstep and told her to hand over her sword. Heʼd drawn it half an inch from the sheath with one hand, examined the edge, and slid it back, saying: once youʼre there, wait. Donʼt argue with anyone. Sheʼd said all right. When she reached the mountain gate, sheʼd glanced back. He was still sitting there, one hand resting on his knee.

The mountain gate stood at the top of the slope. The ”Qingya” plaque above the gate was chipped at one corner. Below it hung a bamboo pole, a white mourning banner draped between the two gateposts.

Jiang Wan stopped at the bottom of the last three stone steps.

Wind came through the mountain pass. The white banner flipped over, then flipped back. The two rope ends were level. The one on the left was tied in a dead knot, the knot facing outward. Nie Bo always tied slipknots—one pull and they came loose.

When she looked up at the banner, there was no one else on the mountain path. All ten li from Luoxia Town to the mountain gate were empty.

Nie Bo was inside the gate, sweeping fallen leaves. The broom pressed down, again and again, with a shushing sound.

”Nie Bo,” she said.

Nie Bo switched the broom to his other hand, didnʼt look up.

She went in.

The front courtyard was empty. The main hallʼs doors stood open. Outside the threshold sat a clay basin filled with burned paper ash. When the wind passed, the ash lifted and settled back down. She walked to the threshold and took the sword off her back, standing it against the doorpost. The sheath carried the cold from outside.

A door panel rested across two long benches, white cloth covering it from head to foot. On the incense table, a coarse porcelain bowl held ash, with a few burned-out incense stubs stuck in it. The lamp before the memorial had been trimmed low; its light reached only the edge of the table.

Cheng Banshan stood beside the incense table, one hand placing a stick of incense into the bowl. He heard her footsteps and turned his head slightly.

”Youʼre back.”

”When.”

”The Hai Hour, on the first.”

Jiang Wan stopped three paces from the door panel.

”The first,” she said.

”Your master left word. No big ceremony. Bury him on the third day. Tomorrow morning at the Dragon Hour. Nie Boʼs already dug the pit.”

She reached into her sleeve and took out an oiled paper packet. It was wrapped in two layers, tied neatly, the four corners pressed flat. She set it on the corner of the incense table.

”Bought in Linchuan City. Itʼs sweet,” she said. ”I told him, if you want something, send someone. He said, asking someone means owing a favor.”

Cheng Banshan glanced at the paper packet, said nothing, set the incense stick in place, and straightened up.

”In his last days—was he still lucid?”

”Lucid,” Cheng Banshan said. ”On the afternoon of the first, he was still asking about the price of lamp oil. Asking if it was eighty wen a jug.”

Jiang Wan knelt, touched her forehead to the ground, and kowtowed three times. On the third, her two hands drew together in front of her knees and braced against the ground, holding for a long moment before she straightened up. Dust from the main hall floor clung to her knees. She didnʼt brush it off.

”Has anyone come these past few days?” she said, standing.

”Chixiao came once,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Stood before the memorial for a while, read from a paper.”

”What did it say.”

Cheng Banshan pointed his wine gourd toward Xu Yan: ”He remembers.”

Jiang Wan followed his gesture, then said nothing.

Someone came over from the kitchen. Qian Duoduo, holding a bowl in both hands, stopped at the doorway, eyes red. He called out ”Senior Sister,” then swallowed the rest of his words.

”Porridge.” He held the bowl out. ”Thereʼs more on the stove. I bought the burial clothes—coarse cloth. The shopkeeper said this set wonʼt mind the damp.”

Jiang Wan didnʼt take it.

Another person came through the door, footsteps light. Jiang Wan turned—it was Xu Yan, carrying a stack of paper money, the edges pressed even. He set it on the low table beside the door panel and straightened it.

”How many people are left on the mountain,” Jiang Wan said.

”Counting you, seven,” Cheng Banshan said.

She rested her hand on the edge of the door panel, her fingertips a fingerʼs width from the white cloth, then pulled it back.

”Who has the Sect Master Token.”

Cheng Banshan tilted his chin toward Xu Yan.

Xu Yan reached inside his inner garment and produced the bronze token, laying it flat on his palm. The front was cast with ”Qingya,” the back with the single word ”Order.” The edges were worn smooth, and one patch of the bronze had been polished bright by handling.

Jiang Wan looked at it. She didnʼt reach for it.

”A bookkeeper,” she said.

”Jiang Wan,” Cheng Banshan began.

”I misspoke.”

”You didnʼt misspeak,” Cheng Banshan said. ”But the old sect master gave him that token with his own hand.”

”I know it was with his own hand.” She turned to Xu Yan. ”What did he say at the end.”

”He said: the accounts, you can settle them.”

Her lips moved, but the words sheʼd meant to say didnʼt come out. After a moment, she spoke: ”I waited ten days at the Branch.”

No one in the main hall answered.

”I went down the mountain on the twentieth of the fifth month, reached Linchuan City on the twenty-first. The first three days, the gatekeeper said the steward was busy. The fifth day, they said the documents were locked in the archive. The seventh day, I sat there from morning until they closed. On the tenth day, the clerk behind the desk finally looked up and said one thing: that debt was transferred out in the third month.”

”Transferred to whom,” Cheng Banshan asked.

”He said he didnʼt know,” Jiang Wan said. ”Said it while staring at the abacus on his desk.”

Cheng Banshan pulled the gourd from his robes, uncorked it, took a drink, and corked it again.

”Master sent me down the mountain to ask for an extension,” Jiang Wan said. ”That was the first time heʼd ever sent me down.”

”Whatever the old sect master did, he had his reasons.”

”What reasons.”

Cheng Banshan pressed the gourd back onto his belt. He didnʼt answer.

”Senior Sister.” Qian Duoduo held out the bowl again from the doorway. ”The porridge is getting cold.”

”Put it down.” When sheʼd said it, she raised her eyes to Xu Yan. ”Once the Evaluation is over, Iʼm leaving.”

Cheng Banshan turned. ”Where to.”

”I have somewhere.”

”Fine,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Your master talked just as sharp when he was young.” He walked out as he said it, taking the bowl from Qian Duoduo on the way, setting it on the small table just inside the door, and leading him off.

At the Wei Hour, she sat on the threshold, back to the courtyard, face turned inward. The bowl rested on her knees. She drank slowly, one sip at a time.

Xu Yan, beside the incense table, nudged the wick up a little. The light grew an inch, reaching the folds in the white cloth.

”The Chixiao people came at the Snake Hour today,” he said.

She raised her head.

”Three of them, red robes,” she said. ”Coming downhill, the one in front smiled at me.”

”His name is Ge Song.”

”The smile had no reason.” She lifted the bowl from her knees. ”What did he come for.”

”To read out a document,” Xu Yan said. ”Qingya hasnʼt paid Rank Silver since Year 271 of the Alliance Calendar. By this yearʼs Autumn Evaluation, thatʼs thirty years. A Ninth Rank sect pays seventy a year.”

”Two thousand one hundred pieces.”

”Two thousand one hundred.”

Her hand paused; the porridge in the bowl swayed.

”On the twelfth of the third month, the Dongzhou Branch transferred the amount to Chixiao Sect as Assignee,” Xu Yan said. ”On the Double Ninth, the day of the Autumn Evaluation, itʼs to be paid in full, in front of the Rank Evaluator, to the Assignee. Spirit Stones only. Silver doesnʼt count.”

”And if it canʼt be paid.”

”If it canʼt be paid, or if the sect fails the Autumn Evaluation and is struck from the roster, the Mountain Gate Deed goes to Chixiao.”

Jiang Wan set the bowl on the threshold. Wind came through the door and lifted the hair from her forehead.

”The document.”

”Chixiao took it back down the mountain. Qingya has no copy.”

”You memorized it.”

”Memorized it.”

”Ge Song left one more thing before he went down,” Xu Yan said. ”This yearʼs Rank Evaluator has been replaced. Itʼs someone named Wen Su. Shows no mercy.”

She turned the bowl half a circle; the bottom scraped softly against the stone.

”Mercy or no mercy, whatʼs it to us,” she said. ”Three months. Two thousand one hundred pieces. Even with mercy, not one piece less.”

She sat there, looking at the folds in the white cloth over the door panel. After a while, she raised her eyes.

”The rosterʼs just me.”

”Yes.”

”Ninth Rank is judged by the roster. Ten people. Where do you plan to recruit.”

”Down the mountain.”

”No one in town is going to send their child to a mountain thatʼs about to fall apart.”

”I know.”

”And you still go.”

”Someone has to,” Xu Yan said.

She lifted the bowl from her knees, then set it back down halfway.

”The day Master sent me to Linchuan City, he could still walk,” she said. ”He wrote the note himself for me to carry. His handwriting was steadier than mine.”

”I made a copy of that note too,” Xu Yan said.

She glanced at him, didnʼt ask where it was.

”Have you worked out whatʼs on the mountain.”

”Not yet. Inventory tomorrow.”

”No point,” she said. ”Even after you inventory it, it wonʼt cover a yearʼs Rank Silver.”

”No.”

”Three months. Two thousand one hundred pieces.” Her voice was low. ”How do you plan to earn it.”

”Havenʼt worked that out yet.”

”When will you.”

”Before the ninth of the ninth month.”

She stared at him for a long moment, unblinking. The steam had long since faded from the bowl of porridge on the threshold.

”Xu Yan.”

”Yes.”

”That ledger in the Accounts Room—Master kept it for thirty years, recorded a loss every year. When he wrote in it, you were standing beside him, grinding ink.”

”I copied that whole stack,” Xu Yan said. ”From Year 271 on, every entry. Not one missed.”

Jiang Wan didnʼt respond to that. She set both hands on her knees, pressing down with her palms.

”That token he gave you—why are you holding on to it.”

Xu Yan took the bronze token out of his inner garment again, laid it on his palm. The lamplight fell on it; the polished patch at the edge caught a yellow gleam. He didnʼt answer right away.

”He handed the accounts to me,” he said. ”I havenʼt finished settling them.”

”And when youʼve settled them.”

”Weʼll see.”

She laughed once, short—not really a laugh.

”Masterʼs mountain gate. Iʼll watch over it until the ninth of the ninth.” she said. ”Iʼm not saying it twice.”

”All right.”

”If anything happens, call for me.” She picked up the bowl.

Xu Yan nodded.

She stood, drank the last mouthful, and set the bowl back on the threshold. The bottom knocked against the stone with a sound. She turned and stepped down from the threshold.

At the bottom of the steps, she looked back.

The bronze token was still lying in Xu Yanʼs hand, the polished side facing up.

She said nothing. She tightened the sword on her back and walked toward the East Courtyard.