My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 97: One Sheet of Rules

The bronze incense burner in the Ancestral Hall had been wiped once on the thirtieth night of the Twelfth Month, and the cloth had left white streaks along the rim. Old incense ash from the previous year caked the bottom, paper ash drifting up to settle on top. No one had touched it.

Xu Yan knelt on the prayer cushion, drew three incense sticks, and lit them from the Eternal Lamp, then used the incense tongs to smooth the ash in the burner. In years past this had been Fang Henianʼs job. If the ash wasnʼt level, he wouldnʼt light the incense.

Ash leveled, incense set straight, he stepped back. In years past, at this point Fang Henian would stand before the burner for a moment and say something—sometimes ”the roof tiles were replaced this year,” sometimes just ”everythingʼs fine.” Xu Yan opened his mouth and said, ”Everyoneʼs here.” Only then did he bow.

The bronze token dug into his ribs from inside his robes.

Jiang Wan came up second. She took off her sword and held it in the crook of her arm as she bowed. Cheng Banshan lit his incense one-handed and set it in perfectly straight, then stood back and looked at the burner for a moment. Shao Ming bowed slowly, and when he rose, he pressed a hand to his knee before he could stand. Qian Duoduo bowed in a hurry—something was still simmering on the stove. Huo Qing held his sword and made his three bows one-handed. Shi Po knelt and the prayer cushion sank a fingerʼs depth into the earth. Bai Xiaoman, Qi Qi, Du Xiaochuan, and A He bowed one after another.

A Sui knelt longest. After her three bows she stayed down, lips moving, reciting line by line—the formula from that yellow paper of Cheng Banshanʼs. A He didnʼt move at first, and when he reached to pull her up, Shao Ming glanced over, and his hand withdrew.

Xu Yan stood under the eaves and waited until A Sui braced her hands on the ground and pushed herself up, two patches of dust on her knees. She brushed them off and went to stand beside A He.

The lacquer on the last ancestral tablet still shone. Lean close and you could smell it.

At noon in the Main Hall, two tables had been pushed together. Qian Duoduo had used the broth left from the stewed pork to cook noodles, made a separate pot of spirit meal and one of coarse grain rice, with a dish of pickled vegetables at the tableʼs edge and a small bowl of shelled mountain chestnuts.

Cheng Banshan came in with his gourd in one hand, sat down, poured himself half a bowl, and then poured for Shao Ming. ”New Year. Doesnʼt count as breaking vows.”

”You said that last time too.” Shao Ming picked it up and drank.

A Sui filled a bowl of rice, pressed two pieces of meat on top, and carried it out. Sheʼd been the one to deliver this bowl every day since New Yearʼs Eve. She came running back and turned at the threshold to look back once before sitting down.

”Sect Master,” A He said, biting his chopsticks, ”when do the rules arrive?”

”The notice said the tenth of the First Month.”

”Thereʼs a market on the tenth. The first one,” Qian Duoduo said.

”Whether they get delivered or not, weʼll see on the tenth.” Xu Yan said. ”First market of the year is crowded. Donʼt set the pot up in the middle of the road.”

From the second to the fourth, there was no work on the mountain. The five of them still rose before dawn as usual. Jiang Wan summoned no one; whoever got up trained on their own.

The fifth was a Fives Market Day, but during New Year no stalls went out. Qian Duoduo dumped the spirit rice for the tenthʼs batch into a wooden basin to soak. Xu Yan went into the kitchen to refill the lamp oil and saw the basin. ”Soaking this early?”

”Five days.” Qian Duoduo rolled some rice between his fingers to show him. ”Bought this on the twenty-fifth of the Twelfth Month. Been sitting more than ten days—itʼs hard. If it doesnʼt soak through, it comes out half-raw when steamed. Out of twenty bowls, five would be too tough to bite.”

”Iʼm not going down the mountain on the tenth.”

”Youʼre not going? First market of the year.”

”Iʼm waiting on the mountain for the rules.” Xu Yan said. ”Shi Po goes with you and carries the rice back.”

On the tenth, the stall left the mountain before dawn. Qian Duoduo carried the pot on a pole, Du Xiaochuan hauled firewood, A He hugged the baskets, A Sui carried the basket of empty bottles, and Shi Po walked at the front with empty hands—heʼd come back carrying rice. The kitchen fire was banked, the door left ajar.

Xu Yan sat in the Accounts Room half the day. The Twelfth Monthʼs accounts were closed; the page for the First Month sat blank. He wrote in the date first: First Month, Tenth Day. Halfway through, he pulled the half-sheet of red paper out from beneath the ledger. The line of ink was still clear: First Month, Tenth Day. The Rules.

Around noon, footsteps came up the mountain path—not fast, one step at a time, pausing halfway.

When he went out, the man was already standing beneath the Mountain Gate. Gray-blue robes, the legs of his trousers soaked to the knees, melting snow on his shoulders. Nie Bo was inside the threshold, sweeping that stretch of stone steps. His broom hesitated.

”Sect Master Xu.” The man took a sheet of paper folded into thirds from his chest and offered it with both hands. ”The rules.”

The paper bore the seal of the Dongzhou Branch, one corner softened and damp from snowmelt.

”How long was the walk up?”

”Reached Luoxia yesterday. Walked up this morning.”

”Have some water.”

”Canʼt. Need to be down the mountain before dark. Thereʼs a cart waiting in Luoxia Town.” The man hitched up his satchel, started down, then turned back after a few steps. ”Deliver and leave—thatʼs my assignment. Not meant as discourtesy.”

”Not discourtesy,” Xu Yan said.

The man reached the slope, rounded the crooked tree, and was gone. Nie Boʼs broom started up again.

Xu Yan stood beneath the Mountain Gate and unfolded the paper, reading from top to bottom. At the fifth item, he stood still for a while. The sixth item produced a name—Meng Ting—one heʼd never heard. When he folded it back up, the creases wouldnʼt line up with the originals. A corner of the paper stayed bent, lifted.

That afternoon he took the paper back to the Accounts Room and copied each date into the margin of the ledger: First Month 16th; First Month 25th; First Month 26th through 29th; Second Month 19th; Second Month 20th; Second Month 23rd; Third Month 3rd. When done, he checked it over from the start.

Before the Monkey hour was out, the stall returned—empty pots, empty bottles, rattling all the way. Qian Duoduo burst into the Front Courtyard shouting, ”Sold out!” The pot had emptied by the Wei hour, and all ten bottles of Qi-Gathering Powder were gone.

”First market of the new year, people are willing to spend.” Qian Duoduo set the wooden box on the kitchen counter. ”Lu Shoutian came by, finished eating, and said the pot is still set up in the middle of the road.”

”What did you say?”

”I said weʼd move it next time. He grunted and walked off.”

A He set the basket down. ”A rogue cultivator from Linchuan asked if anyone from town was going to watch that platform on the third of the Third Month.”

”What did you answer?”

”I said I didnʼt know, we hadnʼt signed up yet.” A He scratched his head. ”He laughed and said signed up or not, everyone goes to watch.”

A while later, Shi Po came up carrying a sack of spirit rice, his collar soaked with sweat. He saw the paper in Xu Yanʼs hand. ”Whatʼs that?”

”The rules.”

”What rules?”

”The Grand Tournamentʼs.”

Shi Po grunted and carried the rice toward the kitchen.

Before the Dog hour, Xu Yan entered the dayʼs books in the Accounts Room. The Fir