My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 121: The Cinnabar Is Still Wet

The sky wasnʼt fully light yet when sounds came from the empty yard behind the guest quarters.

A thrust, then a pull-back. Wood scraping against the old cloth wrapped around a sword, pausing between each repetition. The sound was low, carrying over the wall.

Shi Po stood under the eaves holding a lamp. He held it high, but the circle of light only reached one corner of the yard. Huo Qing was in that corner, the ground beneath his feet already packed flat from use. Heʼd changed locations today, but he still rose before dawn. The sword left its sheath without a sound, his right hand hanging at his side while his left thrust the blade out, then drew it back.

At the plank table, Bai Xiaoman spread a length of yellow silk flat. With the whole piece laid out and a wooden ruler pinning one end, she measured inch by inch, then cut along the ruler with the same scissors she used for trimming herbs. The silk was tough, so the scissors moved slowly—cut a section, pause, hold the cut piece up to the lamp to check the raw edge.

”This piece on the east: Wood.” She said, ”South is Fire, west is Metal, north is Water.”

Shi Po angled the lamp toward her hands.

”Iʼve written the order for placing them on paper. I didnʼt dare mix them up. You plant starting from the east and go around once, and only then does the formation rise. Missing one side, itʼs just a piece of cloth.”

Qi Qi came back from the kitchen with a pot of hot water, shrugging his shoulders as he stepped inside. ”The frost out thereʼs thick enough to stand on. Third day of the third month, and itʼs still like this.” There was a streak of black between his fingers—ash from the kitchen fire.

Jiang Wan sat on the edge of the sleeping platform, her left shoulder and back wrapped in medicine cloth, an old jacket with sleeves half a foot too long thrown over it. Her sword leaned against her hand, still sheathed, the scabbard mouth facing outward. She sat without touching the wall.

”Flatbread.” Qi Qi set six packets on the table.

Shi Po unwrapped them one by one. Theyʼd been griddle-cooked the night of the first. Three days later, they felt hard to the touch and crumbled when broken. Qi Qi tore them into chunks, half a cake per person, soaking the pieces in bowls of hot water until they softened bit by bit. Shi Poʼs packet was tied with a double knot; he untied it and ate two bowls by himself. Xu Yan sat at the other end of the plank table, slowly working through his half.

Huo Qing finished his practice and came in, scraping his soles on the threshold, setting his sword by the door. He took half a flatbread and sat on the threshold to eat. He ate fast, then wiped his hands on the cloth.

”Keep training like that and your handʼs going to fall apart,” Jiang Wan said.

”One more session and Iʼll stop,” Huo Qing said.

Xu Yan drained the last mouthful of hot water from his bowl. ”Iʼm going over once during the Mao hour, back before it ends. The lot drawing is at the Chen hour.”

”I know the lot drawing is at the Chen hour,” Jiang Wan said.

”Back before the Chen hour. I wonʼt be late.”

She didnʼt answer that. She shifted the sword a little closer to her side, the scabbard tip touching the base of the wall, then held still.

Bai Xiaoman dissolved cinnabar in warm water, adding it little by little, until a brush tip could pick it up and hold it without dripping. She worked through the first line halfway, then stopped, lifted the brush to check, and continued tracing.

”It needs two passes,” she said. ”Once the cloth rolls and snaps in the wind, the banner will crack.”

Jiang Wan listened through the door, but there was no more sound outside. She turned back to look at the silk on the table.

”Did you leave the banner corners long enough?”

”I did.” Bai Xiaoman flipped the corner over to show her. ”When planting, it faces outside the ring so a foot can step on it.”

”Donʼt stand in the ringʼs center when you plant the banners. Plant while backing away—one side down, one step back.” Jiang Wan said. ”The person in the ring will chase you. Youʼre working alone.”

”Iʼll remember.”

”The formation only rises once the banners are planted. That moment canʼt be slow.”

”Iʼll remember.” She said it again, her hand never stopping.

At the end of the third banner, her wrist twitched, and the stroke slanted half a hair off. She pressed at it with a corner of cloth, couldnʼt smooth it, and decided sheʼd have to patch it from the back once it dried.

”Swap this one out and redraw it?” Jiang Wan asked.

”Thereʼs no time to redraw.” Bai Xiaoman said. ”Four sides, all the same. Half a hair off is still off. Iʼll plant this one on the east side and press the corner deeper into the dirt.”

Jiang Wan looked at that half-hair slant and said nothing more.

When she reached the final corner, Bai Xiaoman took the pebbles from her cloth bundle and laid them out one by one on the table corner: four stones in a circle, one in the center. Sheʼd picked them on the mountain by knocking them together and listening to the sound; the edges still bore the marks sheʼd scratched with her fingernail at the time.

”They wonʼt be needed this time.” She said. ”Four sides use the banners. The center uses nothing.”

”Keep track of the stones,” Jiang Wan said. ”Donʼt lose them.”

”I wonʼt lose them. Iʼll keep them on me, separate from the banners.”

Shi Po steadied the lamp and asked, ”Once this sideʼs planted, how long until the formation rises?”

”Not until all four sides are planted.”

”Then I canʼt help you,” Shi Po said. ”Iʼll be watching from the seats.”

”Watch. Thatʼs enough.” Bai Xiaoman said. ”Just donʼt stand up.”

Xu Yan set down his bowl, wrapped his remaining half of flatbread in cloth, and tucked it into his sleeve.

”Iʼm heading out,” he said.

”This hour?” Qi Qi looked up. ”Is the Market Office open?”

”It is.” Xu Yan said. ”The Rank Evaluatorʼs inside before the Mao hour.”

He straightened his robes and went out. Passing through the yard, he glanced at Huo Qing. Huo Qing was wiping his scabbard with a cloth; he glanced back but didnʼt follow.

The Sect Alliance Branch office stood in front of the martial arena. Dawn was just breaking, and the eavesʼ tiles wore a layer of white frost. Meltwater dripped down onto the stone steps, soaking half the treads.

There were already people in the front courtyard. Six from Chixiao Sect stood under the eastern veranda. Ge Song had his hands clasped behind his back, watching the arena. He let his eyes rest on Xu Yan for a moment at the sound of footsteps, then turned his face away. Xu Yan raised his hands in salute. Ge Song returned it with a lift of one hand. Neither spoke. Xu Yan walked past, and no one said anything behind him.

The office door stood open. Xu Yan stopped outside the threshold. Inside, a clerk was flipping through several registers, touching a fingertip to his tongue between pages. He looked up at the figure in the doorway, went into the inner room once, came back out, and raised a hand. ”Sect Master Xu, come in.”

Wen Su sat behind the desk. A ratings register lay open on it, one of her hands pressing down on the page, a smear of ink on her fingertip. Half a bowl of cold water sat at the corner of the desk, no steam rising. Beside it stood a lot tube, mouth up, four bamboo tallies standing inside, their carved ends facing out. He counted: four—one per sect.

Xu Yan stopped three paces from the desk. His eyes touched the lot tube once, then returned to her face.

”Rank Evaluator.” He raised his hands in salute. ”For todayʼs body inspection, I ask the Rank Evaluator to conduct it personally.”

Wen Su drew her hand back from the register page.

”The rules state that before stepping onto the platform, the Ring Judge conducts the inspection in person,” she said. ”Who does Qingya suspect?”

The clerkʼs hand stopped mid-air over the register.

”Without evidence, I wonʼt name names,” Xu Yan said.

Wen Su looked at him for a long moment. She didnʼt offer him a seat, and she didnʼt dismiss him.

The clerk folded the register halfway shut, opened it again, and held his fingertip pressed to the corner of the page. Outside, meltwater struck the stone steps—one drop, then another. Xu Yan stood before the desk, both hands tucked into his sleeves, and added nothing more. Heʼd come to say one thing. Heʼd said it. The rest was her business.

”Then we follow the rules,” she said. ”The body inspection belongs to the Ring Judge. If the Chief Evaluator sees something suspicious on the field, she may come down and inspect personally. If itʼs seen on the field, Iʼll do it.”

”Thank you, Rank Evaluator.”

”The lots are drawn at the Chen hour,” she added. ”The four team leaders stand at the ringʼs edge. One per sect. No one touches first.”

”Understood.”

Xu Yan saluted, stepped back over the threshold, turned, and descended the stone steps.

He didnʼt mention Meng Tingʼs name.

By the time he came out, the sky had brightened another shade. Inside the arena, two servants carried a bucket of diluted limewater, ladling it onto the ground with long-handled dippers to draw the lines. The old lines had been trampled away; the new ones pressed over them, blindingly white. At the judging stand to the north, another clerk straightened a small desk, placing a wooden box holding the Branch seal at its edge. Two long benches had already been set by the ring—one east, one west—these were the combatantsʼ benches for each side.

Xu Yan stood at the bottom of the steps and watched them ladle the lime circle until it closed, before heading back toward the guest quarters. On the way he passed the western viewing stand. People had already claimed spots—prayer cushions laid on the wooden planks, snack boxes by their feet. One person had fallen asleep hugging a sword.

Back at the guest quarters, the four banners were laid side by side on the windowsill. The cinnabar had darkened since it was first applied; the edges still gleamed, wet enough that a fingertip would smudge them.

Bai Xiaoman slid scraps of cut silk beneath the banner corners. ”Once theyʼre dry, Iʼll fold them with paper between the layers. A little pressure and theyʼll lie straight.”

Jiang Wan looked up and saw the figure in the doorway.

Xu Yan stood at the threshold.

”She wouldnʼt agree,” he said.

Jiang Wanʼs hand tightened around the scabbard, then didnʼt lift again.

”She said if itʼs seen on the field, sheʼll do the inspection herself,” Xu Yan said.

”Then make sure she sees it,” Jiang Wan said.

The others were collecting bowls, wiping lamp shades, wrapping cloth strips. No one heard those few words.

Jiang Wan braced her hand on the platform edge and stood, right hand on her sword, left hand making no move to steady herself. Shi Po reached to support her arm, caught her look, and pulled his hand back.

”Pack the banners,” she said.

Bai Xiaoman gathered the four banners one by one, paper between each layer, edges squared, rolled them into a bundle, and tucked it deep into her cloth pack. She slipped the five pebbles separately into the front of her robe, pressing a hand over them through the cloth.

”Iʼll change your medicine when youʼre back,” Bai Xiaoman said.

”After the match,” Jiang Wan said.

Shi Po wiped the lamp shade clean and pinched out the wick. After sunrise, the lamp would be no use.

At the Chen hour, the six of them came around the back of the guest quarters and entered the martial arena.

The viewing stands were packed. Robes of every color, sleeve badges of every sect. People standing and talking with swords hugged to their chests, others in the highest row craning their necks for a better view. Some had brought their own prayer cushions; some had snack boxes at their feet. The crowdʼs voices blurred together—no one could make out who was saying what.

Below the judging stand stood the people from Cloud Terrace Sect and Azure Brook Sect, their robes washed clean, their voices deliberately low. Across the ring, Ge Song stood with his five Chixiao people behind their bench. Zhou Kui braced his iron staff on the ground, the staffʼs head wrapped in a layer of cloth.

Xu Yan walked in front, Jiang Wan half a pace behind him, sword and sheath held in her right hand, her left shoulder still dipping an inch lower than the other. Shi Po walked on her outer side, angling his body to block anyone who passed too close. Bai Xiaoman carried the cloth pack with the banners, tapping the packʼs opening every couple of steps. Qi Qi walked last, constantly looking east.

Passing beneath the western viewing stand, someone above spoke, not loud, but loud enough to drift down.

”That staff fighter from Chixiao—did you see him?”

”I did. One staff, one down. Those Qingya kids canʼt take it.”

Shi Po didnʼt break stride. Qi Qi glanced back, swallowed whatever he was going to say. Up ahead, the newly drawn lime line was blindingly white. Sect Alliance Branch people stood outside it, gesturing them toward the western combatantsʼ bench.

A row of chairs had been set apart at the very front of the eastern viewing stand—the observersʼ seats.

Those chairs were empty except for the easternmost one, where a single person sat.

The man sat alone, a sword strapped to his back, the cloth wrapping it old and worn, the hilt jutting out past his left shoulder. The seats in front of him stood empty all the way to the railing. The arena was this loud, yet no one came near that patch of ground.

Huo Qing reached the combatantsʼ bench and stopped for one step.