My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 111: Willow Bank Gateʼs Soft Whip

February 21, Dragon hour. The back courtyard of the guest quarters was still smaller than one trial ring. A water vat stood against the wall, firewood stacked half a manʼs height beside it.

Shi Po stood in pillar training at the base of the east wall, two shallow pits worn into the ground beneath his feet. Under the eaves, Huo Qing practiced that single thrust against an old gray line, right arm hanging at his side, only the left hand going out and coming back—thrust and retract, neither fast nor slow.

Qi Qi had gotten a length of hemp rope from the kitchen, the rope end dusted with stove ash. He tossed it on the ground and looked up at Jiang Wan under the eaves. ”Senior Sister, give it a swing.”

Jiang Wan didnʼt ask why. She walked over, wrapped the rope end twice around her hand, and shook the rest out onto the ground. ”How should I swing it?”

”Bring it down off your shoulder.”

The rope snapped through the air in an arc, the tip slamming into the dirt and kicking up a layer of dust. Qi Qi stepped half a pace to the side, his toes touching down as he shifted position. ”Again.”

The second swing she swept it sideways. Qi Qi dropped low and ducked under the rope, and when he straightened up he was barely a foot from the wall.

The third swing she didnʼt raise her hand at all. The rope shot along the ground and Qi Qi jumped it, but his right foot came down half a step slow. The rope end scraped across the upper of his shoe, scuffing off a layer of dirt.

”A little slower and it wouldʼve wrapped around,” he said himself.

Jiang Wan pulled the rope back in and wrapped it around her hand twice more. ”Ground-levelʼs faster than the one coming off the shoulder. The shoulder one you can see. The ground one—you have to watch his wrist.”

Qi Qi crouched to pick up the rope and tested it in his hands. ”The other day outside Ring Three I counted his steps. From his hand to the ground, that whip reaches half the ring.”

Xu Yan sat on the doorstep, an old ledger slip pressed against his knee. At those words, the brush tip stopped on the paper.

”Then donʼt try to circle him.”

Qi Qi looked up. ”Circlingʼs my strength.”

”The ringʼs three zhang. No matter how fast you circle, you canʼt leave it.” Xu Yan folded the slip in half and pressed it flat. ”He doesnʼt need to chase you. Lay the whip on the ground, and youʼll come to him yourself.”

No one in the courtyard spoke. Shi Poʼs breathing hadnʼt broken rhythm; Huo Qingʼs left hand went out once more and came back to the same position as before.

Qi Qi wadded up the rope and tossed it back on the woodpile. ”Then Iʼll still circle. If I donʼt circle, do I just stand there waiting for him to whip me?”

”Circle.” Xu Yan said. ”Circle until he has to reach for you. When he reaches, thatʼs when you get your shot. If it never comes, donʼt force your way in.”

Qi Qi wiped his hands on his pants, brushing off the stove ash. ”Got it.”

Xu Yanʼs brush tip came down, wrote a line on the slip, folded it into his sleeve, and turned to Bai Xiaoman sitting at the other end of the doorstep. ”Howʼs your hand?”

Bai Xiaoman untied the handkerchief on her knee. Five pebbles rolled into her palm. ”Can lift it. Canʼt press down.”

”How long can you hold?”

”Less than half an incense stick.” She tucked the pebbles back into the handkerchief one by one. ”Sect Master, the twenty-third—”

”The list gets written tonight.” Xu Yan stood and walked to the middle of the courtyard. ”One more thing. Donʼt go to the east side of the city.”

”I know.” Qi Qi clapped his hands. ”If I go, theyʼll start asking what a Qingya manʼs doing over there.”

Jiang Wan draped the rope end back over the vatʼs rim and, passing Xu Yan, lowered her voice. ”Twenty-third, Ring Two. The ring judge is still him.”

Xu Yan grunted.

On the twenty-second, Dog hour, the communal bedʼs lamp hung on the wall, six people sitting around it. Xu Yan spread the blank slip for the second round across his knee, touched the brush tip to one corner first.

”First match. Who goes.”

”Me.” Qi Qiʼs hand rose to his chest, then lowered. ”I watched his whole match. I have to meet him once at least.”

Xu Yan wrote his name down. ”Tell me why youʼre going.”

”His whip comes back faster than it goes out. But when he retracts it, his wrist turns backward.” Qi Qiʼs hand darted forward, then snapped back. ”Thatʼs the opening Iʼm going for.”

Xu Yan finished writing and moved the brush down a line. ”Second, Senior Sister. If the first match loses, you even it up.”

Jiang Wan leaned against the wall by the head of the bed, drawing her legs in. ”The sword?”

”Sheathed for now.”

”To show them?”

”For the third day of the third month.”

She asked nothing more, just said ”Got it.”

”Third, Shi Po. Fourth, Huo Qing. Fifth, Bai Xiaoman.”

Bai Xiaoman raised her hand to her chest. ”Sect Master, my spiritual powerʼs back to seventy percent.”

Xu Yan stopped the brush. ”An estimate?”

”Tested at noon today in the courtyard. I held the pebbles standing for a while—my hand was shaking before half an incense stick.”

”Seventy percent puts you fifth.” Xu Yan said. ”If it gets to you, it means the first four matches tied. Youʼve got half an incense stick. Donʼt think about finishing the formation.”

”Then Iʼll lay half of it.”

”Lay half. The rest of them will walk into it on their own.” He set the brush down. ”When you press, donʼt let him see how many stones youʼve set.”

Bai Xiaoman lowered her head and tipped the pebbles from the handkerchief onto her knee, arranging them in a row. ”Then Iʼll press them behind my back.”

”Keep your hands behind you. Once he starts guessing, his footwork slows.” Xu Yan said.

Qi Qi rolled over on the bed. ”If I win the first match, nobody gets to a fifth.”

”If you win, this bout ends three to one.” Xu Yan folded the slip and wrote ”Qingya” across the seal. ”Willow Bank Gateʼs five: Qi Qiʼs seen two of them—one uses the whip, oneʼs their foremost, a sword user. The other three he hasnʼt seen. All five are harder than Ink Pool Gateʼs.”

When he finished, he pressed the slip under the lamp. The wick sputtered once. All six of them stopped talking.

On the twenty-third, Snake hour, all four rings opened at once.

Meng Ting stood beside the incense holder at Ring Two. Xu Yan walked over and handed him the sealed slip.

Meng Ting took it and glanced at the seal. ”Sect Master Xu.” He opened the paper in front of both sides and read aloud: ”Qingya, first match: Qi Qi.”

At the second name, he paused. ”Jiang Wan.”

Someone on the Willow Bank Gate side let out a low breath. Meng Ting read both slips through and placed them folded together beside the incense holder. ”Qingya, third match: Shi Po. Fourth: Huo Qing. Fifth: Bai Xiaoman. Willow Bank Gate, first match: the whip.”

The first Willow Bank Gate fighter untied the whip coiled around his waist. It was a soft whip, no bones in its length, and when it hung loose the tip dragged a shallow line through the dirt.

Qi Qi walked to the edge of the ring, shoved his sleeves up his forearms, and held out his wrists.

Meng Ting pressed two fingers against the inside of his wrist—left hand first, then the right—then studied his face and lifted his chin to check his throat. ”Pass.”

The Willow Bank Gate fighter stepped up as well, held out his wrists the same way, answered the same questions. Meng Ting pressed just as hard, checked the same places, skipped nothing between the two inspections.

Xu Yan stood three paces outside the ring and watched both checks through. Jiang Wan was at his right, voice low. ”Same.”

”Mm.”

Meng Ting struck a fire starter, and the incense tip flared.

Qi Qi moved first. He walked two steps east, then back half a pace, never settling in one place. The Willow Bank Gate fighterʼs whip came down first, the tip slithering along the dirt for a stretch, then suddenly snapped upward from below. Qi Qi was already retreating; the whip tip whipped past his lapel.

The second swing came down from above, striking the exact patch of dirt where heʼd just been standing, leaving a white scar in the earth.

The third chased his shoes along the ground. He circled west and the whip circled with him. He skirted the ringʼs edge and the whip tip waited a foot ahead of him. Qi Qi feinted once, and halfway through the lunge the whip folded back from midair and cracked across his shoulder—not hard—but he had no choice but to retreat.

The incense burned down a short length. Xu Yan counted the gaps in the whipʼs retraction from outside the ring: one breath, half a breath between each retract and the next strike. He counted to the fifth one.

Qi Qi circled again, down to the south side, the lime line right beneath his feet. The Willow Bank Gate fighter raised his hand for a shoulder strike, but halfway through his wrist dropped; the whip tip touched down first and swept forward along the ground.

Qi Qi jumped. He knew he had to. But when the tip reached his feet it didnʼt stop—it coiled once around the upper of his shoe and pulled back.

He was dragged out of the ring, landing half-kneeling in the dirt, one hand braced against the ground.

Meng Ting said: ”Out of the ring. Willow Bank Gate wins.”

Qi Qi got up and dusted off his pants. The shoe upper had been yanked askew; he bent down to straighten it before leaving the ring.

Jiang Wan came over. ”When you went for that opening, your shoulder moved first.”

”I timed it to half a breath.”

”He doesnʼt watch your feet. He watches your shoulder.” She said. ”Three times, half a foot short.”

Qi Qi said nothing more and went to stand at the base of the wall. Xu Yan marked the match down on the ledger slip.

Second match.

Jiang Wan walked to the ringʼs edge, sword in her right hand, still sheathed, the mouth of the sheath forward. When Willow Bank Gateʼs foremost stepped up, his sword tip entered the ring before the rest of him crossed the line. He held the sword low, tip toward the ground, no cord wrapped around his hand, nothing flashy about him at all.

Both of them held out their wrists for Meng Ting to check, and Meng Ting said ”Pass” twice. The incense was swapped out, and the fire starter flared again.

Jiang Wan entered the ring, feet together, the sword still carried in her hand. Her opponent didnʼt wait for the incense to burn half an inch before attacking.

The first strike was fast—from his first move to her face was one step. Her wrist rose and the sheathʼs mouth struck the middle of his blade, knocking it half a foot off line.

The second came rising from below. The sheathʼs mouth was there again, knocking against the crossguard hard enough to jolt his wrist.

The third he tried to slip under the sheath. She pressed the sheath down and knocked it aside.

Then she didnʼt retract. The sheathʼs mouth rode up along his blade, all the way to the crossguard, then pushed forward.

He stepped back. She followed a step closer, the sheath never leaving his sword.

The sword was pinned—couldnʼt be drawn, couldnʼt be raised. He shifted half a step left and the sheath moved with him. He angled right and the sheath angled with him. By his fifth step back, his rear foot came down on the lime line, scraping a gash through it, and half a step further put that foot outside the ring.

Meng Ting waited for him to settle before speaking. ”Out of the ring. Qingya wins.”

Willow Bank Gateʼs foremost stood outside the line, looked down at his sword, and only after a while put it away. Low voices stirred outside the ring, saying Qingyaʼs sword had never left its sheath from start to finish.

Jiang Wan walked back, dropping the sheath to hang by her waist. ”The sword outruns the man, but the feet canʼt keep up. He was out of moves by his third step back—the last two were for the judge.”

Xu Yan marked the second line on his slip. One to one.

The next fighter Willow Bank Gate sent up stood half a head taller than Shi Po, thick through the shoulders and back. He stripped off his short jacket at the ringʼs edge and draped it over the railing. He carried no weapon.

Shi Po walked over from the base of the wall, slapping the dirt from his palms.

Xu Yan said quietly: ”He wants to throw you. If he canʼt, heʼll have to overcommit.”

Shi Po nodded.

He walked up to Meng Ting and held out both wrists. Meng Ting pressed, checked, and said ”Pass.”

Shi Po stepped across the lime line.

Ring Three had already cleared out. Chixiao three to zero, the crowd drifting away from the field. Ge Song in front, Zhou Kui behind with his staff over his shoulder, the two of them heading not toward the city gate but toward Ring Two.

Zhou Kui stopped three paces outside the lime line, took the staff off his shoulder, and planted the butt end in the dirt.