My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 46: A Wall Broken Through

The mule cart stopped at the town gate just as the sun slipped over the ridge to the west. The carter looped the reins around the shaft. ”Fare was already paid on the first.”

Qian Duoduo hopped down first, then turned back and lifted the pot out. The cloth wrapped around the potʼs ears had frayed to fuzz, so he shifted his grip to a different spot. Shi Po got off last, settling the back basket onto his shoulders. At the bottom sat three formation stones, and on top of them three hundred and thirty low-grade spirit stones—every step he took produced a dull, muffled clink.

Xu Yan stepped down and first patted his chest. The ledger was on the left, the money pouch on the right, with a layer of old cloth between them. Fifteen mid-grade stones dug into his ribs. As he walked, he ran the dates through his mind: the fifteenth, the twentieth, the twenty-fifth—three market days, two hundred seventy spirit stones. Once the math settled, he put it aside.

”Main street or the back way?” Qian Duoduo asked.

”That alley on the west side of town. Cut through and you come out at the north end,” Shi Po said, already moving.

The streets of Luoxia Town were never empty after mid-afternoon. Porters were packing up their poles to head home, and someone was sloshing out vegetable-washing water against a wall; it hit the flagstones and, dried by the sun, left a ring of white residue. Qian Duoduo walked along with his right hand held open, examining it: all three blisters had scabbed over, and the skin around the edges had peeled, revealing new flesh that was lighter in color.

”Donʼt get it wet,” Xu Yan said.

”Iʼm toughening up.” Qian Duoduo made a fist.

The alley lay on the west side of town, half as wide as the main street. Rammed-earth courtyard walls lined both sides, weeds sprouting along their tops. A few sections had crumbled into gaps, propped up with branches. Shi Po stopped at the fork and tilted his head toward the alley. Heʼd walked this route for years; coming back from the quarry, cutting through here saved half a street.

Halfway down the alley, a skinny kid came toward them. Thin, in a short jacket two sizes too big, sleeves hanging past his hands, walking fast with his head down.

The group passed him. The kidʼs shoulder jabbed into Xu Yanʼs ribs. Xu Yan stumbled back half a step, and the kidʼs ”sorry” was already out of his mouth as he slipped under Xu Yanʼs arm and past him.

Xu Yanʼs hand went to his chest—the ledger was there, but the money pouch side was empty. The cloth was still warm.

”Stop.”

The kid ran faster.

Shi Po didnʼt ask questions. He swung the back basket off his shoulders and set it against the wall, then his foot kicked off and he was gone.

Qian Duoduo stood in the middle of the alley, mouth open, still hugging the pot. Xu Yan hitched up his robes and gave chase. A body at Qi Condensation Fifth Layer was lighter than it had been back in the summer, but running was still just running on two legs. The kid was fast and effortless—his toes skimmed the ground like stones skipping across water.

They rounded two corners. Then the kid darted left, pressed a hand to the top of a wall, and flipped himself over, landing without a sound.

Shi Po stopped at the base of the wall and looked up. The wall was tall—a head taller than him—made of rammed earth with a course of mud brick along the top. He couldnʼt climb it.

He stepped back two paces and drove his shoulder into it.

The sound was dull, not sharp. It was like the wall had a clay jar buried inside it, and that jar shattered, crumbling outward in a rush. A sheet of dry earth collapsed, exposing chopped straw mixed through the dirt—broken strands—and a smell of sun-baked soil blasted out. A hole opened in the wall, half a body wide.

Shi Po pushed through it, a layer of dust settling on his shoulders.

An old man was crouched by the well platform in the courtyard, trimming vegetables. A chicken pecked at his feet. When the wall gave, the vegetables scattered from his hands, and the hen burst upward, landing on the half of the wall still standing.

”Hey!”

”Chasing someone,” Shi Po said, without stopping, and continued out the other side of the yard.

”My wall!” The old man stood up, two dirt patches on his knees. ”You stop right there!”

The old man chased him to the hole and saw Qian Duoduo in the alley, still holding the pot, and Xu Yan, leaning against the wall. His cursing got louder. Neighbors from both sides poked their heads out; a woman took one look and shut her door again.

Shi Po came out the far side of the yard into a cross-alley. Facing him was a grey-brick wall, two heads taller than him, topped with broken porcelain shards. He didnʼt try to break it. He turned and ran around the corner. By the time he came out, the kid was already twenty paces ahead, vanishing into another alley.

They ran all the way to the river.

The Luoxia River bent around the northwest corner of town, where a row of houses crowded together on the riverbank slope, leaving only a narrow lane between them. The lane dead-ended at the water: walls on three sides, river on the fourth. Shi Po stood at the mouth of the lane, blocking the way.

The kid backed onto the bank, half his heel hanging over the edge. Below, the water ran muddy yellow; a broken wooden basin spun in the cracks of the rocks.

He looked back at the water, then at the lane.

Xu Yan reached the entrance, one hand braced against the wall, chest heaving.

”Here.” The kid pulled the money pouch from his shirt and threw it across the ten-some paces between them. ”I didnʼt know what was in it.”

The pouch spun twice in the air and landed in the dirt at Xu Yanʼs feet. Xu Yan bent to pick it up, pulled the cord open, and counted the stones one by one. At fifteen, he cinched the cord tight, tied the mouth shut, and tucked it back inside his robe.

”Whatʼs your name?”

”Qi Qi.”

”You can recognize mid-grade stones?”

”I recognize shine,” Qi Qi said. ”Low-grade stones donʼt shine like that. People in town carry copper coins—they pull out a whole handful, and it jingles. Your pouch doesnʼt jingle.”

”It doesnʼt jingle, and you still found it.”

”You walk with your hand pressed against your chest.” Qi Qi edged half a step toward the river. ”Three times.”

The dust on Shi Poʼs shoulder still hadnʼt fallen. Xu Yan looked at his right shoulder: the shirt was torn open, dirt smeared into the skin, a red scrape underneath, fine soil sticking to raw flesh.

”Your shoulder.”

”The wall was thin,” Shi Po said.

Qi Qiʼs eyes ran over Shi Po. ”I heard it from the other side when I went over the wall. You hit that wall and didnʼt even pause.”

”Fifteen stones,” Shi Po said.

”For fifteen stones?”

”Fifteen mid-grade stones,” Xu Yan said. ”Fifteen hundred low-grade.”

Qi Qiʼs mouth stayed shut for a while.

”What sect are you from?” he asked.

”Qingya,” Shi Po said.

Qi Qiʼs eyes shifted, and he took another half step toward the water. ”Qingya... the one up the mountain with almost nobody left? The town says you wonʼt last until autumn.”

”There are ten people on the mountain,” Xu Yan said.

”The town says seven.”

”The town is quoting from three months ago.”

Qi Qi didnʼt answer that. His hand moved toward his chest, found nothing, and dropped back.

”I shouldnʼt have picked you,” he said, voice low. ”If Iʼd known they were mid-grade—”

”If youʼd known, you wouldnʼt have picked?”

Qi Qi thought it over. ”If Iʼd known, Iʼd have picked from farther away.”

Xu Yan didnʼt laugh, and didnʼt scold. He glanced back at the mouth of the lane and pressed the front of his robe flat. ”That wall—weʼre the ones who broke it. Come back with me.”

Qi Qi didnʼt move, but he didnʼt run either. He followed them back, lagging a dozen or so paces behind, keeping that distance the whole way.

Back in the alley, the old man was crouched beside the hole, picking up the scattered mud bricks one by one. Qian Duoduo stood beside him hugging the pot, face flushed bright red. The moment he saw Xu Yan he called out ”Sect Master,” then turned back urgently to the old man. ”We—weʼll pay for it, we really will.”

The old man caught sight of Shi Po and the fire lit again. ”You! You did this!”

”I did,” Shi Po said.

Then the old manʼs eyes landed on Qi Qi, and he froze. His finger jabbed out. ”And you! What happened to the string of chilies I had drying on the wall?”

”Ate them.”

”You ate my chilies!”

”They were so hot I drank half a vat of water,” Qi Qi said.

The old man opened his mouth to curse but couldnʼt get the breath. He turned back to the crumbled section of wall and ran his hand over it. ”My son rammed this wall. Three days of tamping. And look—just like that, it falls.”

That was when Qian Duoduo noticed Shi Poʼs shoulder. He set the pot down against the wall and hurried over to look. ”This needs medicine.”

”It doesnʼt hurt,” Shi Po said.

”Thereʼs dirt in the wound.”

Xu Yan pulled a small cloth bundle from his chest and untied it. Inside was two taels of silver—left over from the summer, untouched since. He held it out on his palm.

The old man wiped his hands on his trousers before taking it.

”Thatʼs too much...” He turned the silver over and examined it. ”An earthen wall—rammed, mudded over—wouldnʼt cost more than one tael.”

”Look at the hole you punched in it.” The old man pointed. ”Half a body wide. If I do it myself, itʼs two daysʼ work.”

”Two days,” Xu Yan said.

The old man seemed about to say more, but Xu Yan had already pulled the ledger from his shirt and opened it in the last light of the alley, then untied the brush from his belt.

”What are you writing?” Qi Qi stepped two paces closer.

”Keeping accounts.” Xu Yan wrote steadily: August 11—wall compensation—silver, two taels. When he finished, he twirled the brush between his fingers and closed the ledger.

”Taking the extra—it doesnʼt sit right with me,” the old man said, holding the silver.

”If it feels like too much, ram the wall thicker.”

The old man stood there, lips working, then tucked the silver into his sleeve and turned back to the hole, muttering, ”Thicker... thicker means three days of earth.”

Xu Yan turned around. The alley was dark now. Qi Qi stood against the wall, hands tucked into his sleeves, his eyes bright.

”Tomorrow, Dragon hour. The tea stall at the town gate.”

Qi Qi stood there, not moving his feet.

Shi Po lifted the back basket from the wall and shrugged it on; Qian Duoduo picked up the pot. They walked toward the mouth of the alley, and when they reached the end, Xu Yan didnʼt look back. That shadow against the wall still stood there—not following, not going anywhere.

Ten li of mountain road took nearly a full two-hour watch.

The lamp still hung at the Mountain Gate. Bai Xiaoman was crouched on the threshold. When she saw people coming up, she stood and pointed at the back basket. ”Where are the stones?”

Shi Po lowered the basket onto the steps and moved the low-grade stones out by the handful, piling them on the stair. Then he pulled the three formation stones from the bottom. Bai Xiaoman picked them up one at a time and set them under the lamp. The metal one she held up and turned in the light.

”This oneʼs bright. The water one—the grooveʼs worn shallow. Weʼll need to bed it with cinnabar when we set it.”

”One hundred each,” Xu Yan said.

”The stone workshop in town wants one hundred twenty, and they wonʼt even sell to us anyway.” Bai Xiaoman cradled the three stones to her chest and started toward the west wing, then looked back. ”Tomorrow Iʼll measure the grooves first. Donʼt let anyone touch them.”

The moment Qian Duoduo came through the Mountain Gate, he was already telling the story of the west alley, his voice rising when he got to the hole in the wall.

In the front courtyard, Jiang Wan stood on the steps of the Main Hall.

”The money pouch,” she said.

”Got it back. Fifteen stones, not one missing.”

She nodded once, turned, and headed toward the east courtyard.

The west wing room was still dark. Shi Po struck his fire starter and lit the lamp, then pulled off the torn shirt. His right shoulder was scraped raw in a streak, dirt still clinging; he wiped at it with a cloth, but it wouldnʼt come off.

”Wall?” Huo Qing asked from the plank bed.

”Earthen.”

”Go around next time.”

”I went around two alleys.”

Huo Qing didnʼt ask more. The bed creaked as he rolled over.

In the Accounts Room, the lamp was lit. Xu Yan entered todayʼs line: Expenditure—wall compensation—silver, two taels. Balance on hand still stood at one thousand eight hundred thirty spirit stones, silver at zero taels.

He closed the ledger and was about to blow out the lamp when he stopped, reopened it, and added half a line beneath the entry for August 11:

Dragon hour, tea stall at the town gate.

The lamp went out. On the west side of town, a wall still had a hole in it.