My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 137: The Ship with a Flag

Qi Qi yawned all the way down the mountain. It wasnʼt until he was halfway that he remembered he hadnʼt eaten breakfast.

Theyʼd gotten off the night watch at the Mao hour. The two of them had sat on the flat stone in front of the gate until the sun climbed onto the slope, then stood and headed down. The ten-li mountain road took an hour. By the time they walked into Luoxia Town, the sun hung straight overhead, and the river blazed bright enough to hurt the eyes.

The tea stall at the wharf entrance looked the same as always: three wooden posts holding up a sheet of old matting, a black kettle on the stove, the lid rattling as steam pushed at it. Qi Qi ordered two bowls of hot water and pulled out two copper coins, setting them on the cutting board. The old woman swept the coins into her apron pocket and pushed two coarse porcelain bowls across. The bowl bottoms scraped twice against the wood.

An oar sounded from upriver—once, then again, slow.

Qi Qi set his bowl down and lifted his head.

A boat came around the river bend, a flag planted at the prow. The wind ran across the water; the flag clung to its pole, then snapped free. The boat rode deep, the waterline pressed down to the second row of nails. Two men stood at the prow, one worked the steering oar at the stern. On shore, two porters hauling firewood rested their poles on their shoulders and turned to look.

”Heavenly Sword Sect,” Qi Qi said, fast, then added, ”seen them in town before.”

Xu Yan set his bowl down.

The gangplank dropped onto the wharf. One man came down first, turned back to help the next. Ten men, one after another. The one in front wore a sword on his back, the sheath wrapped in old cloth, a corner of it lifting in the river breeze, slapping against his back again and again.

He stopped on the third stone step. Stood very straight, arms at his sides. He didnʼt look toward the tea stall, didnʼt look toward the porters—like a man tallying a shipment.

On the bank, an old man set down his water buckets; a child ran to the lowest step and was yanked back by his mother; the tea-stall woman craned her neck out.

One of the disciples behind him asked quietly, ”Senior Brother Wei, shall I go ask about the inns in town?”

The one in front didnʼt answer. He studied the wharf from east to west, then lifted his eyes to the row of gray-tiled rooftops in town. He watched for a while, then walked down from the steps.

”Go back,” he said. The disciple behind him answered once and asked nothing more.

The ten men boarded the gangplank again, one by one. The gangplank was drawn up, the mooring rope wound twice around the post. Two men stayed on deck to watch the boat; the rest went down into the cabin. The boat stayed tied to the bank. It did not leave. The gangplank was stowed against the side, the mooring line taut, as if the boat meant to stay a long time.

Qi Qi drained the last mouthful of water from his bowl. ”The boatʼs not leaving.”

”Theyʼre staying on it,” Xu Yan said.

”For a month?”

”The gate opens for a month, so they stay for a month. Living on the boat means they donʼt take up rooms in town.”

The old woman fed a stick of firewood into the stove and asked, ”These people come to take the mountain?”

”Come to watch a door,” Qi Qi said.

”What door?”

”That door up on our mountain.”

The old woman shoved the stick further in. ”Your mountain has a door?”

”It cracked open back in the fourth month.”

The old woman fanned the stove twice, then spoke again: ”The whole townʼs talking about it. They say all Eight Great Sects are coming.”

”The Eight Great Sects.” Xu Yan stacked the two bowls together.

”That many people coming—will you have enough grain up there?” the old woman said. ”Rice at the marketʼs already gone up two wen these last couple days.”

”If itʼs not enough, weʼll buy more,” Xu Yan said.

The old woman laughed and slung her rag over her shoulder. ”Now you sound like a bookkeeper.”

Qi Qi bit the rim of his bowl and swallowed back a laugh. He changed the subject: ”Theyʼre staying on the boat. Wonʼt they get bored?”

”The boatʼs moored at the wharf,” Xu Yan said.

”So what if it is?”

”People go past the wharf every day.”

Qi Qi thought about that, then glanced at the river again. The boat sat against the bank, its flag hanging limp, snapping out when the wind came. From the prow, you could see everything that happened on this half of townʼs main street.

”Do we report this back up the mountain?”

”Yes,” Xu Yan said. ”Weʼll report it when we get back.”

The two of them walked up from the wharf. It wasnʼt a market day yet; the stalls were all packed away. A few households had vegetables drying by their doors. A dog sprawled on the stone steps, sunning itself, too lazy to wag its tail. At the grain shop entrance, Xu Yan stopped to read the wooden sign. Prices were written in charcoal. The line for rice was two wen more than last time. He stood and read it through, then moved on without going in.

At the Wei hour, two carts came through the town gate.

Wooden wheels, smaller than the grain shopʼs carts, the bodies covered with oilcloth, rope lashed over and over. The wheels rolled over the flagstones with a weight heavier than ordinary carts. The first cart carried no flag.

The carts stopped in front of Luoxia Inn. The door of the second cart opened and a man stepped down, the hem of his robe neat and straight. He stood below the steps and spoke with the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper turned and shouted into the courtyard; two shop hands ran out and pushed open the east compound gate.

Ten people came down from the carts. The hands carried down several chests, the carriers all the while supporting the bottoms with their palms.

The shopkeeper held a ledger and a brush, asked a question, got an answer. Midway through, the words ”Jinding Pavilion” came out clear—loud enough for the whole street to hear.

Qi Qi ticked off on his fingers. ”East compound, ten people, a night costs two—”

”Thatʼs the walk-in rate,” Xu Yan said.

”How do they charge for the whole compound?”

”Thatʼs not on our books.”

Qi Qi dropped his hand.

The two of them stood on this side of the street and watched the ten men pass one by one through the compound gate. The hands carried in two benches last, then the gate closed. On the steps sat an old woman picking vegetables. She glanced into the courtyard, then lowered her head again.

Late in the Wei hour, the two started back from the town gate toward the mountain. The sun had shifted west; tree shadows lay across the road. Along the way Qi Qi looked back once more and said you could still see the flag at the prow from the slope by the town gate. At the mountain gate, Nie Bo was sweeping a pile of leaves down the slope. He pulled the broom aside and gave them half a step.

Late in the Shen hour, bowls and chopsticks were laid out in the Main Hall.

The kitchen had steamed a pot of coarse grain rice for the month. A He carried the bowls; A Sui set out the chopsticks, each time lining them up against the stool before placing them. An empty bowl was upturned over Xu Yanʼs bowl; when he lifted it, steam still rose. Jiang Wan sat across from him, her sword leaning against one end of the bench.

The two washed their hands and sat.

”Heavenly Sword Sect and Jinding Pavilion have arrived,” Xu Yan said. ”Ten each.”

”Where are they staying?” Jiang Wan asked.

”Heavenly Sword Sect is staying on their boat, moored at the wharf. They havenʼt left. Jinding Pavilion took the east compound at the inn.”

Qi Qi shoveled a mouthful of rice in. ”The Heavenly Sword leader is the one who was hauling charcoal baskets on the wharf last winter. The one named Wei.”

Huo Qingʼs chopsticks stopped against the rim of his bowl.

The Main Hall went quiet all at once. Even Qian Duoduoʼs rice ladle froze against the edge of the pot.

Huo Qingʼs left hand had a layer of wood dust across the web of the thumb—from the lunge heʼd practiced against the wooden target under the veranda at noon. He paused there, then put that bite into his mouth. He didnʼt reach for any more dishes after that; he finished the rice in his bowl bite by bite. When it was gone, he lined the chopsticks up evenly and laid them across the mouth of the bowl, just as always.

Jiang Wan looked up at him, steadied the bowl in her hand, and said nothing.

Qi Qi only then realized heʼd spoken too fast. He chewed that mouthful a long time before swallowing, and didnʼt bring up the wharf again.

Cheng Banshan set his wine gourd on the bench. ”All these people, just to watch a gate.”

”Theyʼll watch it until the fifth of the fifth month,” Xu Yan said.

”And after that?”

”Weʼll know after that.”

Cheng Banshan grunted, picked up the gourd, and set it down again without drinking.

A He brought his bowl over. ”Sect Master, is Heavenly Sword Sword Sect First Rank?”

”First Rank,” Cheng Banshan said.

”How much bigger than us?”

”Weʼre Eighth Rank,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Seven ranks between us.”

”All Eight Great Sects are First Rank?”

”All First Rank.”

A Sui held out her fingers beside him, folding them one by one into her palm. She stopped at seven, looked up at her brother, then started over from the beginning.

Qian Duoduo added a ladle of rice to the pot. ”Seven ranks higher, and they still come to look at our gate.”

”What theyʼre looking at is the gate,” Xu Yan said. ”Not us.”

Shi Po scraped the last grain of rice into his mouth and set down his chopsticks. ”The gate is on our land.”

Bai Xiaoman set her bowl down and asked a different angle: ”They came by boat. The gate they want to watch is on the Back Mountain. If their boat stays on the river, how do they get up the mountain?”

”The regulations only say the landlord guards the gate. They donʼt say how,” Xu Yan said. ”And nobody touches the seal.”

Bai Xiaoman turned that over in her mind, nodded, lowered her head, and kept eating.

Qian Duoduo asked, ”Sect Master, for the market on the twenty-fifth—add an extra pot?”

”As usual, two pots,” Xu Yan said.

”Townʼs got all these extra people now.”

”They eat their own rations,” Xu Yan said. ”If it doesnʼt sell, the grain goes bad. If it sells out, we add a pot next market.”

Qian Duoduo knocked the ladle once against the pot rim. ”Fine.”

At the You hour, Huo Qing rose and picked up the lantern from by the wall. Shi Po stood up with him and straightened the rope ends under the eaves. Huo Qing held the lantern in his left hand and moved at an unhurried pace, revealing nothing.

Jiang Wan said, ”The windʼs stronger on the Back Mountain at night than in the front courtyard.”

”I know,” Xu Yan said.

Going out the door, Huo Qing raised the lantern a little higher to light the few stone steps at his feet.

Jiang Wan watched the two of them go out, then lowered her head and finished what was left in her bowl.

Late in the You hour, the Accounts Room.

Xu Yan took out a fresh sheet of paper and ground ink. On the first line he wrote: Heavenly Sword Sect, Fourth Month, 21st, ten people, on boat. On the second line: Jinding Pavilion, Fourth Month, 21st, ten people, inn east compound. When he finished, he folded the sheet and tucked it into the very front page of the ledger.

Then he started a new line: Luoxia rice price, one dou dearer by two wen.

He set the brush on the edge of the inkstone and sat there, spreading out on paper what heʼd seen today: twenty people—one group living on a boat, one at an inn, both places right under the townʼs nose; rice up two wen, and firewood wouldnʼt be cheap either. Six more sects still to come, and when they came it would be ten per sect. Where theyʼd stay, where theyʼd sleep—the town would have to make room. He pulled the sheet out, read it over, and tucked it back.

At the Zi hour, Xu Yan carried his lantern up the Back Mountain. Qi Qi was already waiting below the front courtyard steps. Their two lanterns walked up together.

Past the formation eye, a few more zhang up, the wind hit first; the lantern tilted sideways.

Huo Qing and Shi Po stood three paces before the gate. When they saw the lanterns coming, Huo Qing held out his.

”The gate hasnʼt moved,” he said.

Xu Yan took the lantern. ”Yeah.”

The two of them stepped aside and headed down the slope, one after the other. By the time they passed behind the Ancestral Hall, the light vanished around the corner.

Qi Qi set his own lantern on a rock at his feet and crouched down to look at the paper on the gate.

”He didnʼt say a word about it,” Qi Qi said.

Xu Yan didnʼt answer. He raised the lantern to armʼs length and trained its light on the crack running down the middle of the stone. The wind came in gusts from below; the paper bulged each time, then pressed flat again.

The lantern down the slope was already out of sight.