My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 28: Three Pieces, Linchuan

The Spirit Stones were stacked on the table in thirty-five piles, with one extra piece set on top. Xu Yan counted through them one by one. When he reached the three hundredth, he rolled his sleeve up a little higher, and the rest went quickly.

When he finished, he didnʼt put them back in the box. He took out a sheet of paper, drew three squares, and wrote Metal, Water, and Earth in them. When he was done, he pressed his finger down on ”Metal.”

There were also two taels of silver in the wooden box in the Accounts Room—left over from buying bowls back in June. Bai Xiaoman kept that separately in the silver ledger and wouldnʼt touch the Spirit Stones. Heʼd already counted those two taels too. Even added in, they wouldnʼt buy a single Formation Stone.

Bai Xiaoman had gone up the Back Mountain before dawn. Sheʼd taken two flatbreads from the Kitchen and stuffed them into her pouch, saying, ”If I donʼt finish dispersing it today, Iʼm not coming down.” Xu Yan had answered from the Accounts Room, a Spirit Stone still in his hand.

There was movement in the courtyard. Shi Po was doing pillar training below the steps, legs rooted, the coarse cloth over his shoulders soaked through with sweat. Cheng Banshan said his bones had grown but his flesh hadnʼt caught up yet—he still had to keep applying the salve. So there Shi Po stood, not saying a word.

A Sui came in with a bowl of rice water and set it at the corner of the table, a thin film already forming on the surface.

”Qian Duoduo says you havenʼt eaten.”

”Leave it.”

”Senior Sister Bai didnʼt eat either.” She pushed the bowl a little closer. ”She took those two flatbreads. I saw them. Hard as rocks.”

Xu Yan pulled out the book from under the old account shelf, turned to the line reading ”Formation Stone cracked, no money to replace it,” and added a note in the margin: Go ask.

At the Snake hour, he went first to the Medicine Hall.

Cheng Banshan sat on the threshold, one hand holding his Wine Gourd against his knee, the other sleeve empty, hanging at his side. The fire in the Medicine Hallʼs stove was banked low; the charcoal piled in the corner was only enough for one firing, and he hadnʼt touched it.

”What do Formation Stones run.”

”Never bought any.” Cheng Banshan said. ”Back in Year 290, the Old Sect Master didnʼt buy them either. He used the old stones to activate the formation, and they cracked under it.”

”The stone workshop in town has them.”

”It does. Depends on your luck.” He swirled the gourd. ”A Formation Stone isnʼt an eave stone. You have to check the grain, hold it in your palm and listen to the ring. If the five-element natureʼs off, no matter how well the slot fits, itʼs still a piece of junk.”

”How much each.”

”Heard it years ago: one Formation Stone, enough to feed the mountain for two months.”

Xu Yan ran the numbers in his head. Eight pieces for two pots of rice per market day, forty-eight for six market days—under a hundred for two months. Three Formation Stones meant half a year of rice.

”If Chixiao wants to squeeze you, they wonʼt stop at herb supplies.” Cheng Banshan glanced into the mouth of his gourd. ”Take whatever youʼre carrying and ask that price.”

”Tomorrow I go down the mountain.”

”Donʼt rush to nod when you hear the price.” He said. ”Stones donʼt run.” A pause, then he added, ”That stone workshop proprietor—heʼs not a bad man. Soft wonʼt move him, hard wonʼt scare him. What heʼs afraid of is losing his material supply.”

At the Horse hour, Shi Po carried a gourd of water up the mountain. He returned before the Monkey hour and stood at the Accounts Room door saying, ”Sheʼs sitting in the middle of the trough, hasnʼt moved. Ate one flatbread.”

On the seventh, at the Dragon hour, Xu Yan went out through the Mountain Gate. Nie Bo was sweeping fallen leaves outside the gate, the broom hugging the stone steps, stroke after stroke. As Xu Yan passed, Nie Bo lifted the broom slightly and stepped aside half a pace.

The stone workshop was at the east end of town. Millstones and eave stones were piled out front, and two half-carved steles leaned against the wall facing inward. In the courtyard sat a large vat of green-tinted water, stones resting at the bottom.

The proprietor sat just inside the threshold, a chisel resting on his knee, stone dust over his hands. When he heard someone come in, he set the chisel down first.

”Got any Formation Stones.”

”Whatʼs the trade.”

”Metal, Water, Earth. Three pieces.”

The proprietor stood and dusted himself off. ”Dimensions.”

Xu Yan drew a hemp rope from inside his robe. Three knots were tied in it: slot width, slot depth, and the ledge running around the slotʼs base. Bai Xiaoman had taken the measurements at the Formation Eye, then thrown his own words back at him: ”The stones are cut to the slot, and the slot is here.”

The proprietor pulled the rope straight, measured knot to knot with his thumb joints, and when he reached the third knot, nodded. ”Not large. Can be ground.”

He led Xu Yan to the corner of the yard. A pile of stones on the west side had heavy white veining and rang crisp when struck; several dark blue-black stones soaked in the vat; and three yellow ones were wedged at the very bottom.

”Metal, Water, Earth—Iʼve got two of each.” The proprietor said. ”One hundred twenty pieces each.”

”How much in the city.”

”The Formation Implements Shop in Linchuan City, one hundred each.” He said it evenly. ”I haul my material from Linchuan. Iʼm the one who grinds it. Cost is twenty more.”

Xu Yan said, ”Iʼll take three.”

The proprietor stopped. He picked up the chisel, then set it down again.

”Which mountain.”

”Qingya.”

”I wonʼt sell to you.”

”Why not.”

”Someone from Chixiao came by a few days ago.” The proprietor said. ”Said if Qingya comes buying Formation Stones, donʼt sell.”

”Just the raw material. Iʼll grind it myself.”

”Not selling.”

”What if I donʼt tell you what itʼs for? Say Iʼm buying one to weigh down a pickle jar.”

”I told you I wonʼt sell to you.” The proprietor wiped his hands on his apron twice. ”Even if youʼre buying one to wedge under a door sill, I wonʼt sell.”

”Iʼll have someone from town buy it for me.”

”Then Iʼll pretend I didnʼt know.” The proprietor said. ”And afterward, Iʼll still know.” He tapped the threshold with the tip of the chisel. ”Once a stone leaves my vat and goes through someoneʼs Mountain Gate, if Chixiao asks, I have to answer. And I wonʼt be able to.”

”Three hundred sixty pieces.” Xu Yan said. ”I have three hundred fifty-one on the books. That leaves nine short. Iʼll bring the rest on the tenth, at market.”

”What use is your money to me.” The proprietor laid the chisel across his knee. ”If I sell, this time next year this yardʼll be empty, and those three stones of yours wonʼt buy a second shop.”

A woman came in through the gate to pick up a millstone. The proprietor composed his face, dragged the millstone out from the wall, took her copper coins, and saw her to the door. Only when he turned back did he look at Xu Yan again.

Xu Yan wound the hemp rope loop by loop and tucked it back inside his robe. ”Chixiao reaches into stones now.”

The proprietor lifted his chin toward the east. ”Heʼs got a shop in the Linchuan Market. My material comes from Linchuan, and the hauling carts pass through there. He doesnʼt need to lay a hand on me. One word to the Materials Trade House and this yard is empty tomorrow.” He paused. ”Thirty years this shopʼs been open. People in town build houses, carve steles, buy millstones—all of it comes through me. If I close, where are they going to get their letters chiseled?”

”The Formation Implements Shop in the city—has Chixiao sent word to them too?”

”Donʼt know. I donʼt poke into city business.” The proprietor raised his eyes to him. ”How many people are left on your mountain.”

”Nine.”

The proprietorʼs hand stilled on the chisel. ”Town says only seven.”

”That was Juneʼs count.”

The proprietor tapped the chisel against the threshold again, said nothing.

”When you go there, donʼt say you got this price from me.”

Xu Yan nodded and moved toward the gate. At the threshold, the proprietor called after him: ”Young bookkeeper.”

He turned back.

”When youʼre picking stones in the city, knock them in your hand.” The proprietor picked up a blue stone from the vatʼs edge and rapped it with his knuckle. The sound was dull. ”Ones like this wonʼt work.” He switched to another and rapped again; the ring was clearer. ”Thatʼs the kind that can move qi.”

”Noted.”

”That Old Sect Master of yours came by in Year 290.” The proprietor tossed the stone back into the vat, water sloshing. ”He stood by the vat half the day. Never said he wanted to buy.”

”I know.” Xu Yan said. ”He didnʼt buy.”

The proprietor grunted, sat back down inside the threshold, and laid the chisel across his knee again.

Ten li of mountain road, one shichen. The sun was leaning west by the time Xu Yan reached the Mountain Gate. On the road heʼd turned the numbers over and over: three stones at three hundred, three hundred fifty-one on the books, fifty-one left after paying; out of that fifty-one, forty-eight covered a month of rice. The accounts recognized no one—only the numbers.

Passing the Medicine Hall, Cheng Banshan lifted the gourd from his knee.

”Got them?”

”Didnʼt.”

”Chixiao.”

”Chixiao.”

He took a swig, throat working. ”He canʼt hit me, canʼt hit you—so he reaches out and squeezes the stones.”

”City price is a hundred each.”

”Same price every year. It never goes up.” Cheng Banshan said. ”Make the trip. Bring the three back.”

”Two days round trip.”

”Then two days.”

”While youʼre in Linchuan, check the price of alchemy materials for me.” Cheng Banshan hung the gourd at his waist. ”That load of charcoal in the corner, Iʼm saving it. Julyʼs burning wood—Iʼll tend it myself.”

Passing the Front Courtyard, Jiang Wan sat on a stone footing, her sword across her knees. A cloth lay at her side, untouched.

”The stone workshop wonʼt sell.” She said.

”It wonʼt.”

”Chixiao.”

”Chixiao.”

”Three stones.” She shifted the sword on her knee. ”How much.”

”Three hundred. City price.”

”How much on the books.”

”Three hundred fifty-one.”

She didnʼt answer. She picked up the cloth and wiped the sheath twice, then stopped. ”That one on the Back Mountain still hasnʼt come down.”

Passing the Kitchen, Qian Duoduo was lifting a pot of soup off the fire. He looked up and asked, ”Got the stones?” Xu Yan shook his head. Qian Duoduo knocked the ladle twice against the rim, then turned and took a bowl from the inner side of the stove platform, fitting a lid over it. ”Saved this for her. Still warm.”

The Accounts Room was darkening. Xu Yan spread open the ledger, ground ink, and wrote:

Seventh day, seventh month. Three Formation Stones: Metal, Water, Earth. Luoxia Town stone workshop: 120 pieces each; wonʼt sell to Qingya. Linchuan City Formation Implements Shop: 100 each.

He set the brush down, then started three new lines below:

Luoxia Town, three: 360 pieces.

Linchuan, three: 300 pieces.

On hand: 351 pieces.

Under the first line he drew a faint stroke. Even if the stone workshop had been willing to sell, heʼd still be nine pieces short.

At the very bottom he wrote: Three Pieces, Linchuan.

The brush tip left half a line of space below. Eighty li of official road to Linchuan, two days round trip; the market-day stalls, the Medicine Hallʼs last load of charcoal, and the one on the Back Mountain who still hadnʼt entered Qi Condensation—all of it would have to wait. He didnʼt write a date.

After buying the three, the fifty-one would be parceled out again: forty-eight for a month of rice, three left over. A bowl breaks at market and needs replacing; the Medicine Hallʼs salve needs buying. He wrote the three in a corner of the paper and circled it.

Full dark. He pushed the door open. Shi Po stood below the steps with a bowl of rice, not coming up.

”Still hasnʼt come down.”

Xu Yan looked toward the Back Mountain. A point of light glimmered on the slope—flashed, then went out.

”Sheʼs lighting a lamp.” Shi Po said.

”Leave the food.”

”She said this morning she wonʼt come down until the five strands of spiritual energy are dispersed.”

Xu Yan reached out, took the bowl, and set it on the steps. ”Tomorrow morning take her three flatbreads. Two wonʼt be enough.”

Shi Po acknowledged, still standing below the steps.

Xu Yan went back inside, moved the lamp from the table to the windowsill, and pushed the window open. Toward the Back Mountain, no light had appeared again.