My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 118: The Talisman Fire on Her Back

At the end of the You hour, Xu Yan climbed up to the mountain gate.

It wasnʼt fully dark yet. The stretch of road below still held patches of light here and there, though the lowest part vanished into the pine woods. The smell of rice water drifted up from the kitchen. Qian Duoduo had moved the porridge off the flame, his iron ladle clinking once against the rim of the pot.

A He and A Sui crouched on the topmost step, both faces turned downward.

”Come inside,” Shao Ming called from the West Wing doorway. ”Sunʼs gone down.”

”Just a little longer,” A He said.

Xu Yan tucked his hands into his sleeves. Heʼd been working the same calculation since the Monkey hour: leave the mountain in the Wei hour, reach town in the Snake hour, the twelve stonesʼ worth of formation materials wouldnʼt take a quarter-hour, out the town gate before the Snake hour ended, one Shichen of mountain road after that, and the You hourʼs end should bring her to the mountain gate. Heʼd run it three times. Three times, same answer.

”Huo Qing. Shi Po.” He said. ”Go down and meet them.”

Shi Po had already descended two steps. Huo Qing picked up the sword leaning against the porch pillar and slung it onto his back without a word.

Two lanterns turned a bend on the slope, then vanished around the corner.

Qian Duoduo came out of the kitchen, his apron dusted with flour. ”Sect Master, the porridge is staying warm.”

”Keep it warm.”

”I made a whole pot,” he said. ”Whoever comes back will want to eat.”

”Save two extra bowls. Bai Xiaoman will eat too.”

Less than half an incense stick later, the two lanterns came back up the slope, slower than theyʼd gone down. Two more shadows moved beside them now.

Bai Xiaoman came up first. Her first words were ”the materials are safe,” clutching two paper parcels to her chest so hard the hemp rope bit into her fingers. There wasnʼt much color left in her face.

Jiang Wan came after.

Shi Po walked half a step to her left, one hand empty, half-lifting toward her, then dropping. Lifting, dropping. Finally he reached out. ”Iʼll carry you.”

”I can walk.”

”Iʼm strong enough.”

”Shi Po.”

Shi Po pulled his hand back and stayed beside her, that hand still empty.

She walked her own way: left foot first, planting the whole sole flat before lifting the right. Each step up the stone stairs landed level. Her clothes were torn in one long strip across the back, ripped diagonally from the left shoulder down to the lower waist. The burned layer stuck to her skin, blackened in places. Fine threads of smoke still rose from the edges of the tear, scattered by the wind before they could spread.

Xu Yan stepped half a pace aside, clearing the light at the gate.

”Iʼm late,” Jiang Wan said.

He looked at her back, then turned to Bai Xiaoman. ”Anyone else on the road?”

”No. From the bend all the way down, not a soul in the mountains.”

”How many.”

”Three.”

”Which way did they pull back.”

”East, into the woods, up toward the ridge.”

”The talisman.”

”Burned out. He only had the one.”

Xu Yan worked those answers over in his mouth and asked no more.

”Your hands.”

”Scraped on the rock face.”

”Go in. Medicine Hall.”

A He and A Sui darted two steps out of the West Wing before Shao Ming caught them, one under each hand.

”Weʼll just stand and watch.”

”Standing and watching still crowds,” Shao Ming said. ”You can look tomorrow morning.”

Two lamps burned in the Medicine Hall, one on the table, one hung behind the door. Du Xiaochuan tended the stove, fanning in a steady rhythm. The medicine pot on the stove gurgled; he didnʼt know what was in it. Cheng Banshan had only told him to mind the fire. The fire must not die.

Cheng Banshan stood by the table, his empty sleeve tucked behind his waist, holding a clay jar.

”Come. Sit.”

Jiang Wan sat on the stool by the table and set her sword at the table corner, sheath outward, hilt inward, placed very precisely.

”The clothes have to be cut open,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Who cuts.”

”Iʼll cut.” Bai Xiaoman washed her hands, took the herb scissors from the medicine chest, and moved behind Jiang Wan.

She started at the least-burned spot, working the scissors upward inch by inch. At the shoulder, where cloth and skin had fused, she stopped.

”Leave whateverʼs stuck to the flesh,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Cut it loose. Donʼt pull.”

The scissors worked through. The cloth parted. The skin beneath was red, with white patches in the middle, and across the shoulder the skin had lifted the width of a finger. Bai Xiaomanʼs hand flinched back, then reached forward again. She pressed her whole palm flat against the edge of the cloth, holding the raw skin down. Her hand was small. The places she couldnʼt cover stayed exposed.

Cheng Banshan bent for a look, straightened, set the clay jar on the table, and lifted off the lid. A bitter, pungent smell filled the room.

”A Crimson Flame Talisman did this,” he said.

”How do you know?” Bai Xiaoman asked.

”Talisman fire burns even. No blisters at the edges. Oil fire doesnʼt look like this.” He picked out some salve with a fingertip and spread it over the worst wounds, one stroke pressed over the last, very slowly. At the left shoulder, his finger paused. ”This back looks worse than the ground Iʼve turned in my herb garden.”

”Say if it hurts.”

”It doesnʼt.”

”Then why are your teeth grinding so hard.”

Jiang Wan said nothing. Her hand gripped the stoolʼs edge, knuckles white, then after a while she let go.

Outside, Xu Yan stood past the threshold, hands still in his sleeves.

”Whoeverʼs at the door,” Cheng Banshan said without turning. ”Come help.”

”Iʼll stay at the door.”

”Very refined.” Cheng Banshan pulled a strip of cloth from the pile Du Xiaochuan handed over. ”Bring that lamp here.”

Du Xiaochuan carried over the lamp from behind the door and nudged the wick higher.

The salve was done. Bai Xiaoman laid clean cloth over it layer by layer, her hand never easing pressure. Cheng Banshan traced a line with the back of his finger half an inch above her skin.

”Flesh and skin are the outside. What about inside?”

”Whatʼs wrong inside,” Jiang Wan said.

”Spiritual power crashing around in your meridians.” Cheng Banshan said. ”The talisman didnʼt do that. Talismans only burn skin. Thatʼs from forcing your sword when your body was already breaking.”

Jiang Wan looked at the sword on the table corner.

”If you can suppress it, suppress it,” Cheng Banshan said. ”If you canʼt, donʼt fight it. Ride it. Donʼt sleep too deep tonight.”

”Mm.”

”Leave the sword.”

Jiang Wan didnʼt answer that one.

Bai Xiaoman held out the back of her own hand. Cheng Banshan glanced at it. ”Just a scrape. No salve needed. Three days.” He still wrapped a strip of cloth around it.

”Elder Cheng, how long before the wound closes,” Bai Xiaoman asked.

”Depends on the person,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Her own meridians know.”

”How much for the medicine.”

”Dug from the herb garden out back. No charge.”

Bai Xiaoman tucked the wrapped bandage up her sleeve and turned. ”Senior Sister, the banners arenʼt painted yet.”

”When do they need to be.”

”The third of the third month, at dawn,” Bai Xiaoman said. ”If theyʼre painted that day, they can go up the same day. The cinnabar hardens once it dries. It has to be used the day itʼs made.”

”Then we paint them that day,” Jiang Wan said.

Cheng Banshan pulled an old jacket from under the medicine cabinet and shook it out. ”Put this on. Change when you get to your room.”

Jiang Wan was half a beat slow standing up. Her left hand braced against the table edge before she straightened. The jacket settled over her, sleeves half a foot too long, hanging past her hands. The sword was in her right hand, point down. She walked to the door and stopped.

The courtyard lamp lit a bare stretch of stone steps.

”The one in the middle was Cao Hu,” she said.

Xu Yan drew his hands from his sleeves.

”On the sixth of the ninth month, the day he came up the mountain with Ge Song, he was wearing a new blade at his belt,” Jiang Wan said. ”A bronze clasp on the scabbard. In the dusk today, that bronze clasp caught the light. Just once.”

”The face.”

”Covered, down to under the eyes.”

”How many bronze clasps did you see.”

”One.”

Xu Yan looked at the stone steps in the courtyard for a while.

”We donʼt report it,” he said.

Jiang Wan raised her eyes.

”A covered face, one bronze clasp,” Xu Yan said. ”You go to the Branch, the Rank Evaluator asks what you saw. You saw a scabbard, and a masked man retreating east. The talisman burned out; nothing left on the ground. Bai Xiaoman wasnʼt hurt. The wound is on your back—and that makes it Qingyaʼs own business. Report it, and the Branch starts asking questions first.”

”Let them ask.”

”Who went, when they went, who you met on the road, which direction the talisman came from, how long it burned, how many paces away he was when you drew your sword.” Xu Yan said. ”One question after another, until it can all be put on paper. Three days.”

Jiang Wan said nothing.

”The draw is at dawn on the third of the third month,” Xu Yan said. ”Iʼm not trading three days for one piece of paper.”

Jiang Wanʼs left hand hung inside the jacket sleeve, fingertips twitching.

”Cao Hu is at the fifth layer of Qi Condensation,” she said. ”On the sixth of the ninth month, he stood three paces from me. That day I didnʼt even bother to note the blade on his belt.”

”Good thing you did.”

”Noting it doesnʼt count for anything.”

”It counts,” Xu Yan said. ”Everything noted is an entry in the ledger. Which entry gets settled first and which waits—I can keep that straight. Todayʼs entry can wait.”

She looked down at the sword in her right hand.

”The words on your back—you heard them,” Xu Yan said.

”I heard them.”

She went down the steps, toward the East Courtyard. The jacket hem dragged over each step, brushing one, then the next.

Cheng Banshan stood inside the Medicine Hall doorway, pulled his empty sleeve loose from his waist, and pressed a hand over the wine gourd at his belt without taking it off.

”Xu Yan.”

”Mm.”

”That back of hers will swell by morning. Itʼll look worse than it does now.”

”How many days.”

”Three days for the flesh to close. That wild qi in her meridians—that depends on her, not my medicine.”

Xu Yan nodded.

”Youʼre even quieter today,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Finished your calculations?”

”No.”

”Then whyʼd you stand at that gate for half an incense stick.”

”Standing costs no spirit stones.”

Cheng Banshan snorted, turned back to the stove, lifted the pot lid halfway for a look, and said to Du Xiaochuan, ”Boil this one down to half. Donʼt let the fire die.”

”It wonʼt die,” Du Xiaochuan said.

Around the Hai hour, the courtyard emptied.

Huo Qing slung his sword onto his back again and stood outside the mountain gateʼs threshold.

”The gate—first half of the night, you,” Xu Yan said.

”Second half?”

”Shi Po.”

Huo Qing nodded, stepped past the threshold, and stood there without moving again.

Qian Duoduo carried a bowl of porridge to the East Courtyard steps, set it down, and stood there for a moment. He looked back, saw Xu Yan watching him, and said, ”Iʼll leave it here. She might take a sip when it cools.” A small dish covered the bowl.

Shao Ming closed the West Wing door from inside. The lamp in A He and A Suiʼs room glowed a while longer, then went out.

Xu Yan returned to the accounts room and wrote todayʼs entry on paper in a single line:

”Second month, twenty-ninth day. Mountain road. Talisman, one. No evidence.”

No amount followed. He looked at the line, then pushed the abacus back in place. The twelve stones for formation materials had been entered today; nothing else in, nothing else out.

He didnʼt blow out the lamp in the accounts room.

The bowl of porridge on the East Courtyard steps sat untouched all night, a layer of cold settling on the dish. The lamp in the East Courtyard stayed lit. That whole night, not a single sound of a sword came from the mountain.