My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 100: Thinking of A Sui

The twenty-fifth of the first month. Market day in Luoxia Town. Under the old tile eaves against the third pillar, a pot sat on the stove. One pot of Spirit Meals, sold until early afternoon, until only a thin layer of broth remained at the bottom.

Qian Duoduo scraped the bottom of the pot with a wooden ladle. It squealed. A He crouched by the baskets, stacking the empty bowls one inside another, neat rows. A Sui stood under the eaves reciting the formula, her lips moving without a sound.

”Donʼt stand there reciting,” Qian Duoduo said. ”Peopleʼll think youʼre part of what weʼre selling.”

A Sui shuffled two steps closer to the wall and kept reciting.

Xu Yan sat behind the stall, the ledger open on his knees. He drew the registration slip out from between its pages and spread it in his palm. The seal had been stamped on the sixteenth; the paste was long dry, and the edges had gone soft from handling. Today was the deadline. No one had come up from the other side of the mountain, and no one had sent word.

A He finished stacking the bowls and crouched by the stall. ”Sect Master, now that the deadlineʼs passed, does that mean no one will contest it?”

”Four days after the deadline.” Xu Yan pressed the slip back into the ledger. ”If anyone objects, itʼll be within these four days. Once the four days pass, the Branch sends up the copies.”

”Then what do we do for these four days?”

”Train,” Xu Yan said. ”If they contest it, thereʼll be a confrontation hearing.”

The pot sold out. Qian Duoduo gave his count: forty Wen. Ten bottles of Qi-Gathering Powder, thirty. All of it went into the cloth pouch. A He and A Sui lifted the empty baskets; Qian Duoduo strapped the pot to his back. The bottom was still hot, burning through the reed mat and into his skin.

It was late afternoon by the time they got up the mountain. The ring of white lime in the front courtyard was still there. Jiang Wan stood in the circle, sword sheathed, feeding Shi Po. Shi Po took the blows and gave nothing back, as the rules demanded; his heels were planted on the small cross at the center of the ring. Qi Qi ran the perimeter, glancing down at the line every lap, hugging it tighter than he had a few days ago. Bai Xiaoman crouched against the wall, a handkerchief spread on her knees, counting pebbles one at a time.

”Stop chasing his feet,” Jiang Wan said suddenly. ”Watch his shoulders. You move when his shoulder moves.”

Qi Qi grunted, circled out and back, his footsteps landing lighter than before.

Xu Yan stood at the courtyard gate for a while, then didnʼt go in. What each person needed to train, theyʼd divided up back on the eleventh of the first month.

At the Dog hour, he made the dayʼs entry: Income, seventy Wen. Outlay, Spirit Rice, five. Balance on hand, one thousand seven hundred sixty-two. He turned the page and wrote in the margin: Twenty-fifth of the first month, registration deadline. Thirty-eight days until the third day of the third month.

He set the brush down. The room was still. The ink on that line hadnʼt dried yet. He sat without moving, pressed the slip of paper back into the ledger, and smoothed the corner flat.

The thirtieth, Tens Market Day. At the market, Qian Duoduo led Shi Po to the grain shop to buy the second monthʼs rations: two sacks of Spirit Rice, one sack of coarse grain, fifty Wen. Shi Po stacked the two sacks on his shoulders and took the coarse grain in one hand. The shop hand reached out to help—Shi Po was already out the door.

Back in the Accounts Room, the entry was made. A row of dates in the ledger, creeping day by day toward the third of the third month.

First day of the second month, Snake hour. A clerk from the Branch set off from Luoxia Town. Heʼd left Linchuan City at Mao hour the day before, stayed the night in town, and had made arrangements to come up the mountain today. At Horse hour, the sound of sweeping below the Mountain Gate stopped, and Xu Yan knew someone had arrived.

The clerk didnʼt step through the gate. He handed Xu Yan two folded sheets—one registration list and one copied document. ”Sect Master Xu. Registration lists for sixteen sects. And one copy, made by the Branch for Qingya.” He pressed a finger against the paper. ”The date is written at the end. Everyone named there must appear. Not one may be absent.”

”What day?”

”Itʼs written there.” The clerk tucked his sleeves back in. ”Iʼll be heading back down once Iʼve delivered this. Need to be in Luoxia Town before dark.”

Xu Yan took the two sheets. The wind caught the corners and they lifted; he pressed them down with his hand and walked the clerk to the threshold. By then the man was already down the slope.

He called everyone to the Main Hall, doors open. Jiang Wan leaned in the doorframe; Cheng Banshan hung his wine gourd on his belt, freeing up that hand. Shao Ming stood on the east side with A He and A Sui. The trainees had arrived still dusty from practice, their shoe uppers ringed with white lime.

Xu Yan spread the two sheets side by side on the table and read the registration list first. Sixteen sects, one name to a line. He read through the ranks as written—Cloud Terrace Sect, Willow Bank Gate. Jade Spring Sect, Azure Brook Sect, Ink Pool Gate: all Ninth Rank. When he came to the Qingya line, he read it level: Qingya Sect, Ninth Rank, Sect Master Xu Yan. Registered Disciples: Jiang Wan, Huo Qing, Shi Po, Bai Xiaoman, Qi Qi.

Below that, Chixiao. Zhou Kui, Ding Zhao, Ma Ping, Yi Tuo, Lei Yuan.

”Zhou Kui,” Du Xiaochuan said from the back, his voice low. ”First of the Outer Sect. Taken into the Inner Sect after the Autumn Evaluation. On the roster.” He paused. ”Ding Zhao and the rest, they were already Inner Sect. Outer Court disciples step aside for them.”

”Step aside how?” Qi Qi asked.

”When the pathʼs narrow, you stand to the side. Wait for the Inner Sect to pass.”

No one in the hall laughed. Xu Yan folded the registration list and opened the copy.

”Filed by Chixiao Sect, jointly with Jade Spring Sect, Azure Brook Sect, and Ink Pool Gate.” He read slowly, line by line.

”First charge. Qingya registered disciple A Sui. Entered the roster on the twenty-first day of the eighth month, Year 300 of the Zongmeng Calendar. At the Autumn Evaluation on the ninth day of the ninth month, Year 300, the Rank Evaluator stated that she had been in the sect eighteen days and could not draw qi. At that time it was judged she was not a nominal enrollment. It has now been more than five months, and she still cannot draw qi. She is a nominal enrollment. Qingyaʼs registered roster does not truly number ten.”

The hall went still.

A Sui shrank behind A He until only half a shoe showed. A He stood rooted, his shoulders shifting forward half an inch, blocking her entirely.

Cheng Banshan lifted the wine gourd off his belt and set it on the table. ”Not being able to draw qi—thatʼs a matter of her dantian, not the roster.” His voice was calm. ”If they want to raise the question, hand them this childʼs wrist. Iʼll show them myself.”

Xu Yan didnʼt respond. He kept reading.

”Second charge. On the night of the twenty-sixth of the eighth month, Year 300, Qingya disciple Qi Qi met Chixiao Outer Sect disciple Du Xiaochuan on the ridge. He pulled him over the mountain line. This is luring away another sectʼs disciple. By regulation, the sect is ineligible to compete.”

He finished and set the copy down, smoothing his hand across the paper.

The tendon in Du Xiaochuanʼs neck jumped. He scrubbed his hands against his front placket. Qi Qi opened his mouth; Xu Yan looked at him, and the words went back down. Qian Duoduo stood outside the door, twisting the hem of his apron. Huo Qing leaned against the door pillar, his left hand resting unmoving on the sword hilt. Shi Po had been the last one through the door; he shifted half a step toward the threshold, planting himself in front of A Sui.

Bai Xiaoman edged up beside A He, her voice barely above a whisper. ”When you recite, donʼt clench your hands. If you clench them, the qi wonʼt descend.”

Behind A Heʼs arm, A Sui nodded.

”Third day of the second month, Snake hour, Dongzhou Branch offices.” Xu Yan said. ”Those going: me, A He, A Sui, Du Xiaochuan, Qi Qi.”

A He looked up. ”Me too?”

”Yes. You wonʼt need to speak. Just hold out your hand and let them see.”

”Hold it out for what?”

”Youʼre Qi Condensation First Layer. Thatʼs what they need to see.”

Xu Yan turned toward the space behind A He and softened his voice. ”A Sui, that day youʼll recite the formula all the way through, by yourself.”

A Heʼs mouth moved. Xu Yan didnʼt wait. ”Donʼt prompt her.”

”That day—” A He started, then stopped.

”Uncle Shaoʼs not going. You are. But no prompting,” Xu Yan said. ”If you prompt her, it isnʼt her reciting it.”

A Sui peeked out from behind A He, her eyes red but nothing falling. She reached out, tugged A Heʼs sleeve once, and pulled back.

Xu Yan spoke to Du Xiaochuan. ”What happened that night—only you and Qi Qi can tell it clearly. You were there; thatʼs the only way the story wonʼt be told in their words alone.”

Du Xiaochuan rubbed his hands for a long while, then looked up. ”Iʼll go.”

Jiang Wan shifted her weight to the other shoulder against the doorframe. ”Iʼm not going?”

”You stay on the mountain. These five still need to train.” Xu Yan said. ”This time, it wonʼt be settled with a sword.”

Jiang Wan said nothing. She settled the sword on her shoulder and walked out. At the threshold she glanced back at the two sheets on the table, then went.

At Wei hour, Qi Qi went down the mountain. He stopped by the Luoxia Carriage House and booked a cart for Mao hour on the second, round trip, four Wen, payable on departure. Back up the mountain by Monkey hour. His first words at the door: ”Cartʼs booked.”

At the Dog hour, the Accounts Room door closed. Xu Yan spread a sheet of blank paper on the table, dipped the brush in ink, and called Du Xiaochuan in first.

”First, the waist tablet. Where was it kept?”

”In Steward Geʼs office. On the table near the door.”

”When did you put it down?”

”After dark.”

”What did you do after putting it down?”

”Went out the back window. Walked past the rear wall, down the ridge.”

”Who did you meet on the halfway slope?”

”Qi Qi.”

”Who asked first about joining the sect?”

”I did.”

”What did you say?”

”I asked: does your sect, up on the mountain, take in people?”

Xu Yan wrote it down, one question to a line. Then he sent Du Xiaochuan out and called Qi Qi in. Same questions.

”On the night of the twenty-sixth of the eighth month, Year 300 of the Zongmeng Calendar, where were you?”

”On the ridge.”

”Who sent you?”

”The Sect Master.”

”What did he send you to do?”

”Keep watch. Donʼt cross the ridge.”

”Did you cross the ridge?”

”Yes.”

”When?”

”After he came up.”

”What did he say when he came up?”

”He asked: does your sect, up on the mountain, take in people?”

”What did you do?”

”I grabbed him. Pulled him over the last ridgeline.”

Xu Yan laid the two accounts side by side, line against line, from the waist tablet to that ridgeline. He set the brush down and added at the bottom of the page: identical.

”At the Branch offices, answer exactly what they ask. Nothing more.” He looked at Qi Qi. ”No lip.”

”I wonʼt give any lip.”

”In the Main Hall today, you were about to.”

”Thatʼs different.” The moment Qi Qi said it, he knew he was wrong, shut his mouth, and after a pause: ”Iʼll remember.”

The sky had gone full dark. Xu Yan left the Accounts Room and went around to the outside of the east courtyard. Someone was reciting.

A Sui stood alone at the foot of the wall. She stopped halfway through, paused for two breaths, and started over from the beginning. The second time was faster than the first, line crowding line, breathless with it.

Shao Ming sat on a low stool under the veranda, listening.

”Half speed,” he said.

A Sui slowed. Line by line, steadier than the first time. When she finished, she turned. ”Uncle Shao, did I get it right?”

”Yes.”

”Then what if I still canʼt draw qi?”

Shao Ming didnʼt answer. He leaned back against the veranda pillar. ”Again. Half speed.”

A Sui recited it again. That time she went all the way through without stopping. Xu Yan stood in the darkness and listened to the end, then turned and went back to the Accounts Room without making a sound.

Second day of the second month, Yin hour. The sky still dark. Five people went out the Mountain Gate. The lamps in the front courtyard, the Main Hall, and the Ancestral Hall were all out. Only the stove shed still burned. Qian Duoduo walked them down the slope with a paper lantern, talking about the flatbread the whole way. ”Whoʼs carrying the bread? Donʼt crush it. Once itʼs crushed, you canʼt bite through it.” A He shifted the two packets on his back and puffed out his chest.

At the bottom of the slope, Qian Duoduo stopped and raised the lantern a little higher, watching them go down.

They boarded the cart at the Luoxia Carriage House at Mao hour. Fare, four Wen round trip, paid on the spot by Xu Yan. The sky was only just light as they left town. Eighty li of official road; the mule cart would take five shichen. No one on the cart spoke much.

At Monkey hour the cart stopped at the carriage yard outside Linchuan City. The five of them walked into the city on their own and took rooms at an inn on the edge of the East City Market—the wooden sign at the mouth of the alley had been worn smooth by weather, unreadable. Two rooms: Xu Yan, A He, and A Sui in one; Du Xiaochuan and Qi Qi in the other. Two Wen per room per night.

A Sui set her bundle on the plank bed and went straight to the window, her lips still moving.

A He nudged her with his elbow. ”Tomorrow you recite it yourself. Iʼm not going to prompt you.”