My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 131: North to the Cliff Top of the Back Mountain

On the tenth day of the fourth month, Dragon hour, the Accounts Room.

Xu Yan pulled the deed out from between two pages of the ledger. A layer of dust had settled on the paper. He first wiped down the desk, then spread the deed out. Unfolded, it was as wide as a small table, with a red border running around all four sides and a seal stamped in one corner—the ink so faded only an outline remained. The paper had two creases that wouldnʼt flatten, pressed in during the twenty years it had been held at the Branch.

One hand anchoring the edge of the paper, he read from the top down.

It began with the Mountain Gate: one gate, facing south, with the mountain path beginning ten paces beyond the threshold. Below that, the buildings: three rooms of the Main Hall, one Ancestral Hall, one East Courtyard, one row of West Wing rooms, one Accounts Room, one Kitchen, one Medicine Hall, and behind the Medicine Hall, an old herb garden. Then the Spirit Fields: twelve mu, at the foot of the mountain three li down the fork east of the Mountain Gate.

Only at the very end came the four boundaries.

The eastern boundary read: ”East to the boundary stele on the ridge, eighteen li east of the Mountain Gate, per the Dongzhou Boundary Map of the First Year of the Alliance.” The southern boundary ran to the main road below the mountain; the road sloped down ten li to Luoxia Town. The western boundary went to the rock face on the West Slope—the very slope where Huo Qing and Shao Ming chopped firewood every day. The northern boundary was a single line: North to the cliff top of the Back Mountain.

Xu Yanʼs hand stopped on that line.

The first three boundaries—you could walk there, stand on that line, and your feet would find a boundary stele, a main road, a rock face. For the northern one, what your feet would find was the cliff top.

He had never been up to that cliff top. No one on the mountain had, either: the herb gatherers turned back at the shaded northern face of the North Slope; the graves were on the East Slope; firewood came from the West Slope. The people of Luoxia Town called that northern precipice ”the Wall”—looking north from the town gate, when the sun swung west, the cliff was a dark line drawn across the back of the mountain. Heʼd stared up at it from town more times than he could count, and never once climbed to it.

Where was the Gate? The Gate was the two stone panels on the cliff face, a few zhang above the formation eye—the crack that had split open at dawn on the ninth. Above the Gate rose another stretch of stone, and only where that stone ended did the cliff top begin. The Gate sat beneath the cliff top, on this side of the boundary line.

The deed made no mention of this Gate.

The Mountain Gate was written. The buildings were written. The Spirit Fields were written. The Gate was not. Neither were the graves on the East Slope—the Founding Patriarchʼs grave, the graves of past Sect Masters, the one added only on the third day of the sixth month of Alliance Year 300. Not one word on paper, yet everyone knew they belonged to Qingya.

Everything the boundary enclosed belonged to Qingya. What was written down was only what, that year, someone had been willing to commit to paper.

Xu Yan sat and thought this through once, then again from the beginning.

The deed was the Allianceʼs paper. The boundary was the Allianceʼs ink. The stroke missing from the paper would have to be supplied by the Alliance. This paper had been held at the Branch for twenty years, returned only on the ninth day of the ninth month of Alliance Year 300. During those twenty years, every Re-evaluation visit had seen them read the four boundaries straight from the paper; whatever lay beyond it, they didnʼt look at. He remembered clearly the business on October Ridge in Alliance Year 300: the stele moved one li west, and the boundary followed it one li west. The Rank Evaluator brought people up the ridge, measured it out chi by chi with a bow-step, and with one judgment document ruled the stele back to its old base. The boundary lived on paper, and the paperʼs file copy sat at the Branch.

When it came to boundary matters, Qingya didnʼt get the final say on its own.

The corner of the paper curled back. He reached out and pressed it down again.

Snake hour. Cheng Banshan came in.

He set his wine gourd on one corner of the deed to hold it flat and bent over the lines of text.

”Dragged out the deed, did you.”

”Reading the four boundaries,” Xu Yan said.

”See anything?”

”The Gate is on Qingya land.”

Cheng Banshan made a low sound, waiting.

”The deed doesnʼt record it.” Xu Yan said. ”The gate, the buildings, the fields—all written down. The Gate doesnʼt get a single word.”

Cheng Banshan lifted his gourd, hung it back at his waist, and sat down across from him.

”What do you mean to do?”

”Report to the Branch.”

Cheng Banshan glanced out the window, then back.

”Once itʼs reported, it stops being Qingyaʼs business alone.”

”It never was,” Xu Yan said.

Cheng Banshan ran his hand over the gourd at his waist—twice—but didnʼt open it.

”The Old Sect Master spent forty years on this mountain. Alliance people came four times, one Re-evaluation every ten years. Each time they sat in the Front Courtyard for one incense stick—checked the roster, inspected the formation, drank tea, left.” He paused. ”This time, itʼs Qingya doing the asking.”

”Iʼm not asking anyone to look at the mountain,” Xu Yan said. ”The stroke missing from the paper has to be added.”

”To add one stroke, you have to turn the paper over from the beginning,” Cheng Banshan said. ”How many years back it goes, no one can say.”

”When you see the Rank Evaluator, what do you mean to say?”

Xu Yan had already run the words through his mind, and this was how they came out: ”Early Yin hour on the ninth of the fourth month, the earth shook behind Qingya. The formation eye held. Above the formation eye, a slab of the cliff face split into two panels; between them, a crack with cold air pouring out. Qingyaʼs people have not touched it, not entered it. Two people at a time stand guard. The Mountain Gate deed, northern boundary: north to the cliff top of the Back Mountain. The Gate lies within the four boundaries, and the deed does not record it.”

Cheng Banshan heard this out and gave a single nod.

”Iʼll go tomorrow,” Xu Yan said.

”Whoʼs with you?”

”Qi Qi.”

”Cart?”

”He came down from his shift today to book one in town.”

”The three nights of the Zi-to-Yin watch, Iʼll take them with Shao Ming.” Cheng Banshan stood.

”Uncle Shao already has the Wu-to-Shen shift.”

”He can manage.” Cheng Banshan reached the door, then added, ”Iʼll keep the stove fire banked. Du Xiaochuan sleeps in the outer room of the Medicine Hall; if he hears anything, he gets up and checks. If I lose three nights of sleep, the fire wonʼt go out.”

He stopped at the threshold.

”Is the wind still coming out of the crack?”

”Out.”

”Then Iʼll see to it myself at night.” He pushed through the door and was gone.

Wei hour. The ones who had gone down the mountain returned.

Qian Duoduo walked in front, a cloth pouch tied at his waist, the drawstring cinched shut, the pouch swinging with every step. Shi Po came behind, two pots of Spirit Rice stacked on his shoulder. A He and A Sui followed, and A Sui still held two bamboo tallies she hadnʼt thrown away. Qi Qi came last, empty-handed.

Qian Duoduo upended the pouch over the desk, and Spirit Stones scattered across it, a few knocking against the edge. Xu Yan stacked them into piles of ten: eleven piles.

”The first pot sold fast,” Qian Duoduo said. ”Lot of townsfolk out today, few rogue cultivators. All ten bottles of Qi-Gathering Powder went too—one rogue cultivator bought two at once, said he was saving them for a breakthrough, and asked if weʼd have more next market.”

”The rice got weighed?”

”Weighed. Two pots, ten stones. Shi Po carried them to the Kitchen.” He rubbed his hands together. ”The night of the fourteenth Iʼll get it soaking, so the first pot will be ready in time for the market on the fifteenth.”

”Cartʼs booked,” Qi Qi said. ”Eleventh day, Mao hour. One cart. Fare paid when boarding, four stones round trip.”

”The carriage house people ask anything?”

”They asked why Qingya hadnʼt been seen in half a month. I said today I was booking tomorrowʼs cart. He asked if I was going to Linchuan. I said yes, the Sect Masterʼs going to the Branch to deliver word.”

”Nothing else?”

”Nothing else,” Qi Qi said. ”That crack on the mountain—nobody in townʼs asked about it. I made two rounds of the market; nobody at the stalls brought up the Back Mountain either.”

Xu Yan squared the last pile of Spirit Stones.

”These next few days, keep your ears open,” he said. ”If strangers in town start asking about the Back Mountain, about anything new at Qingya, tell me when you get back. Donʼt talk about it at the stall.”

”Understood,” Qi Qi said. ”Iʼll be at the next market too.”

”Iʼll go up at You hour,” Shi Po said.

”Foodʼs left in the pot. Heat it yourself before you go,” Qian Duoduo said. ”Leave it three steps out. Donʼt bring it forward.”

A Sui slipped the two bamboo tallies into her sleeve and stood by the desk, looking at the eleven stacks of Spirit Stones. After a moment, she asked, ”Sect Master, is the market in Linchuan City bigger than the one in Luoxia?”

”Bigger,” Qi Qi answered for him. ”The city walls are taller than our Mountain Gate.”

A Sui gave a soft ”oh” and went back to staring at the Spirit Stones.

Xu hour. Dinner was cleared. The Main Hall had lamps lit. Huo Qing and Shi Po were on the You-to-Xu watch up the mountain and not present.

Xu Yan stood and spoke: ”Tomorrow at Yin hour, Qi Qi and I leave the Mountain Gate for Linchuan City to report to the Branch.” He paused, then made it plain: ”The thing exposed on the Back Mountain is not in the deed. What isnʼt on paper, Qingya canʼt decide alone.”

”The Zi-to-Yin watch these three nights, Uncle Shao and Elder Cheng will cover. Senior Sister watches the mountain.”

Jiang Wan said, ”Go.”

After a breath, she added, ”Iʼll watch the Gate.”

”The four shifts continue as always. Nobody touches it,” Xu Yan said.

”Once itʼs reported, when will they come?” Jiang Wan asked.

”I donʼt know,” Xu Yan said. ”When they come, how many they send—thatʼs all up to the Branch.”

”How many days until you return?”

”One day by cart, one day for business, one day back,” Xu Yan said. ”Three days.”

Shao Ming said, ”The night watch—I can hold it alone.”

”Iʼll join you,” Cheng Banshan said.

”If the crack widens by even one finger,” Xu Yan said, directing the words to Jiang Wan, ”nobody moves. Nobody shines a light into the crack. Wait for me to return, or report to the Branch that same day.”

”Iʼll remember,” Jiang Wan said.

Qian Duoduo picked it up: ”Iʼll cook the flatbread tonight, enough for two. For the cart ride—three days out and back, will that do?”

”Plenty,” Xu Yan said. ”Bring three daysʼ worth.”

”Iʼll take twenty stones,” he added. ”Cart fare four, an inn room two a night, two nights is four. Whateverʼs left I bring back.”

Bai Xiaoman said, ”Iʼll keep copying the ledger. You can check against it when youʼre back.”

”Iʼll watch the Medicine Hall fire,” Du Xiaochuan said. ”If I hear anything, Iʼll get up and look.”

Cheng Banshan lifted his chin at him: ”If that fire goes out, Iʼll curse you first thing when Iʼm back.”

”The market on the fifteenth goes on as usual—two pots, ten bottles,” Xu Yan said.

A He asked, ”Sect Master, do you need someone to run errands over there?”

”No need,” Xu Yan said. ”You two follow Uncle Shao and memorize the formulas.”

Late Xu hour, the Accounts Room.

Xu Yan set down the dayʼs entry: Fourth month, tenth day. Income: 110 stones. Expense: two pots of Spirit Rice, 10 stones. Balance on hand: 2,613 stones.

Once written, he pulled from beneath the cash box the sheet marked with the four gate watches, and below the Zi-to-Yin line he added a note: These three nights, Shao Ming, Cheng Banshan. Then he slid it back where it belonged.

He picked up the deed, folded it once, then folded it again, down to the size of a palm. Alliance paper was thick; the second fold needed the heel of his hand to press it flat.

He gathered three things together: the thin ledger, placed innermost; the Sect Master Token, copper, wedged in the middle; the deed, folded stiff, outermost. The three pressed against his chest, and the front of his robe bulged a little.

Zi hour. He carried a lamp to the Front Courtyard and stood under the eaves.

On the path behind the Ancestral Hall, two lamps moved upward, one ahead, one behind. Shao Ming in front, Cheng Banshan behind, neither walking fast. The front lamp would pause halfway up and wait for the one behind to catch up, then climb again. As they passed him, Shao Ming said, ”Weʼll watch the Gate.” Cheng Banshan raised his lamp a little higher and said nothing.

The two lamps rounded the back of the Ancestral Hall and vanished from sight.

The lamp in the East Courtyard still burned.

He turned back into the Accounts Room and shut the window. Wind came down off the Back Mountain, gust after gust pushing at the window paper—the paper puffed outward, then pressed flat again.

He laid his hand over his chest. The folded edge of the deed bit into his palm.