My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 139: Who Is the Landlord?

April 25th, a ”five” market day.

At the Mao hour, the wind through the door crack was still cold. Jiang Wan and Bai Xiaoman came up to take over the watch. Jiang Wan glanced at the seal strip and said, ”A lot of people in town today.”

”Not many,” Xu Yan said. ”Eight Great Sects, eighty people.”

”Thatʼs still a lot.” She stepped back beyond the three-pace line and turned. ”Come back when the sun starts dipping.”

”Mm.”

Xu Yan pinched out the lamp wick and carried the lantern down the mountain. Qi Qi peeled off behind the Ancestral Hall to catch up on sleep in the West Wing, while Xu Yan walked alone toward the Front Courtyard. A faint white had just begun to show at the horizon.

Two pots of spirit meals sat outside the kitchen door, covered with old cloth. The steam pushed the cloth up in pulses. Qian Duoduo crouched beside the pots tying rope around himself—three loops, cinched tight into his waist—before he straightened up.

”Sect Master, two pots,” he said. ”All eight sects are down. Iʼm afraid it wonʼt be enough.”

”Two pots is what we have,” Xu Yan said. ”Sell at the usual price.”

A He came out of the kitchen clutching five bowls, straw wadded between them. A Sui followed behind holding a bundle of bamboo tallies, dropping one every few steps, then bending back to pick it up, then walking on.

Xu Yan went into the Medicine Hall to collect the Qi-Gathering Powder. Cheng Banshan crouched by the furnace, the fire at the mouth reduced to a single layer of red. One hand stuffed ten medicine bottles into a cloth sack, packed them full, and pulled the mouth tight.

”This batch burned a full five days. The fire never went out,” Cheng Banshan said, handing the sack over. ”Ten bottles. Thereʼll be ten more on the thirtieth; the next fire starts right after.”

Xu Yan hefted the sack. ”Enough firewood?”

”Enough. That half-load by the back wall hasnʼt been touched.” Cheng Banshan wiped his hands on his knees. ”I hear a few more sects are arriving today.”

”Iʼll go down and take a look.”

”Look at what?”

”At where theyʼre staying.”

He left through the mountain gate at the Mao hour. Nie Bo had just leaned his broom against the wall, two wet leaves stuck to the bristles. The blue stone before the gate was swept into a clean path running from the foot of the steps all the way to the low hut.

Ten li of mountain road. Shi Po went first with a shoulder pole carrying two empty baskets; Qian Duoduo carried the two pots; Xu Yan carried the cloth sack; A He and A Sui followed behind. The sun rose a little over the eastern ridge. The shadows they cast were still long.

Halfway down the road, A He caught up to walk beside him.

”Sect Master, where are the Eight Great Sects all staying?”

”Two on boats, one at the inn, one at the grain shop,” Xu Yan said. ”The rest, weʼll know once weʼre in town.”

”What about the ones who havenʼt arrived yet?”

”Theyʼll all be in town.”

A Sui counted behind them: ”Boats, inn, grain shop...” She folded her fingers back down. ”Does the grain shop count as an inn?”

”No.”

”Then Iʼm one short.”

They entered town at the Chen hour. On the west side of the town gate, along the road to the quarry, a row of gray cloth tents was pitched on the grassy slope, ropes tied to the willows lining the road. A big pot sat on a stove built of stones, smoke rising straight up, only bending when the wind blew. A man crouched by the roadside snapping sticks, tossing each broken piece aside and picking up another.

”That one you donʼt need to ask about,” Xu Yan said. ”Of the Eight Great Sects, only Wanshou Mountain camps on the road.”

A He craned his neck to look.

The other dirt road out of the town gate branched west, past three willows, ending at the Earth God Shrine outside town. Its door was half collapsed. Two men stood at the entrance, one in a gray robe, hair in a topknot, both hands tucked into his sleeves, standing straighter than the row of willows along the road.

”Is that one of the Eight Great Sects too?” A He asked.

”Taiyi Temple.”

Farther in was the street. The gate to the stone workshopʼs courtyard stood open. Several men in ochre-colored clothes stood by the big vat in the yard, moving a stone bench to the corner. The bench legs scraped across the flagstones.

The door to the innʼs west courtyard was open too. The dust on the door panels had been wiped down, uneven streaks left behind. A just-drawn bucket of water sat by the doorway, its bottom still wet.

Xu Yan stopped in the middle of the street and ran through the Eight Great Sects in his mind: Heavenly Sword Sectʼs boat and Xuanshui Palaceʼs boat were moored at the wharf, Jinding Pavilion was in the innʼs east courtyard, Lihuo Hall in the grain shopʼs back courtyard, Wanshou Mountain on the grassy slope by the quarry road, Taiyi Temple at the Earth God Shrine, Zixia Palace in the innʼs west courtyard, Zhenyue Sect at the stone workshop. All eight were present.

Qian Duoduo set up the two pots under the third pillar along the wall. A He laid bowls out in a row on the board. A Sui crouched by the stall straightening tallies. The first bowl sold just as the sun touched the top of the wall.

At the Chen hour, Xu Yan walked toward the middle of the street. A He set a bowl down on the board and followed two steps. Qian Duoduo called after him: ”Donʼt crowd in front of people!”

People were already gathered outside the inn. The eight team leaders stood in a horizontal line at the foot of the steps, Heavenly Sword Sect at the far east. Townspeople watched from half a street away. The water carrier set his load down in the middle of the street and stopped walking. The old firewood seller lowered his carrying pole from his shoulder and planted it on the ground. The innkeeper stood inside the door, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

Xu Yan stopped by the doorway, not joining the line of eight. A He came up beside him, but Xu Yan pressed a hand to his shoulder and held him back.

The clerk holding the wooden box unwrapped the cloth around it, set the bottom on the steps. The bronze corner caps clacked against the blue stone. Pang Ce, Jinding Pavilionʼs team leader, let his eyes follow the box the whole way.

The clerk carrying the booklet opened it, cradling it in both hands. He first looked over the eight men below the steps, then spoke. He read at an unhurried pace, pausing after each item, waiting for the listeners below to lift their eyes from their own toes.

”One: old Hidden Realms and old storehouses revealed within the bounds of a mountain gate deed, but not recorded on that deed, are unclaimed secret realms. The sect on whose land they lie shall report them to the Branch.”

”Two: the opening date is set by the Branch. It will remain open one month. At the end of that time, the Branch seals the gate.”

”Three: each of the Eight Great Sects may send in ten people. Whichever sectʼs boundaries contain the gate is the Landlord—they too send ten people, and stand guard at the gate. Only those below Foundation Establishment may enter.”

”Four: each keeps what they find inside the Hidden Realm. No one may seize what another already holds. No killing. At the gate, only a head count is taken. Nothing is inspected, nothing reported.”

”Five: old items bearing a sectʼs name or mark belong to that sect.”

”Six: if the gate is sealed while you are still inside, you will not be let out.”

After reading the six items, he closed the booklet halfway and spoke the final line: ”For disputes over findings, submit a petition to the Branch after the sealing.”

Xu Yan listened from the doorway. Wen Su had read it once in the Main Hall on the sixteenth of the fourth month. Heʼd checked it line by line then, and checked it again now. Not a single character differed.

A He tugged at his sleeve from behind, voice barely above a whisper: ”Sect Master, what does the sixth item mean?”

”It means whoever hasnʼt come out by the day of sealing doesnʼt come out.”

”Why wouldnʼt someone come out?”

”I donʼt know.”

No one below the steps made a sound. Lin Lian stood in the middle of the row, eyes fixed on a water stain running down from the eaves across the street. Tan Shuo kept his hands behind his back, hadnʼt moved since the first item was read.

The clerk with the booklet hugged it back to his chest and said, ”The ten names from each sect who will enter—before the gate opens, the lists are to be delivered here.” He freed a hand and tapped once on the wooden boxʼs lid. ”To see the gate, come to the Qingya mountain gate and say so. The Landlordʼs people will take you up. The seal strip—no one touches it.”

The one dressed like a Daoist below the steps spoke: ”Is this also part of the rules?”

”It is not in the rules,” the clerk said. ”It is the Branchʼs method.”

Xu Yan looked at the wooden box. Each of the Eight Great Sects would submit ten names. Qingya also had to submit ten—and those ten on the mountain had yet to be settled. He filed this away in his mind and said, ”Come to the mountain gate and say so, Iʼll lead you up. No hand touches the seal strip—ours wonʼt either.”

Xiong Dai turned his face over. ”Who is the Landlord?”

The clerk pointed to the doorway. ”Qingya. Sect Master Xu.”

Xiong Dai turned toward Xu Yan, letting his eyes rest on him a moment. Among the row, he stood broadest in the shoulders, dressed in coarse dark brown cloth, sleeves rolled to the elbows. ”What rank?” he asked.

”Eighth,” the clerk said.

Someone by the roadside let out a low laugh, then fell quiet again. Xiong Daiʼs throat moved once. He turned his face back toward the wooden box on the steps and asked nothing more. Gan Ren stood at the far west end of the row, a layer of dry earth caked on his soles, feet planted without shifting once.

Behind Xu Yan, A He counted the eight men on his fingers. Done, he said quietly, ”Sect Master, eight. All here.”

”Mm.”

Wei Changge was the first to turn and leave, heading toward the wharf, two disciples behind him. He crossed the middle of the street without slowing, and his eyes lifted once toward the north—past several layers of rooftops lay the ridge line of Qingya Mountain. The others dispersed one by one. Some went into the inn, some toward the grain shop, some toward the east end of town. The clerk with the box braced the bottom with one hand and pressed the lid with the other. The lid cracked open a line, then shut.

Xu Yan walked back. Halfway, the old firewood seller stopped him, carrying pole still on his shoulder. ”Sect Master Xu, that gate up on your mountain—when does it open?”

”Fifth day of the fifth month.”

”Still a wait, then.” The old man shifted the pole to his other shoulder. ”The Eight Great Sects are all waiting.”

At the Si hour, under the third pillar along the wall.

Two pots of spirit meals, half remaining. Four bottles of Qi-Gathering Powder left. A He crouched by the stall collecting money, stuffing each payment into the cloth sack and wiping his hand on his pant leg each time. A Sui stacked empty bowls; at five, she couldnʼt hold them all and made two trips.

Among the buyers were several wearing clothes unlike anything in town. One in a gray-blue robe stopped at the stall and set four spirit stones on the board: ”Two bowls.” He didnʼt ask the price. He took his bowls and ate against the base of the wall.

Another came wanting Qi-Gathering Powder. Qian Duoduo quoted: ”Three spirit stones a bottle.” The man pointed at four bottles, counted out the money, and crouched by the stall holding each bottle up to the sun to examine it.

A man in ochre crouched down to look at the pots. ”Whatʼs in these?”

”Spirit rice, water from the mountain, the fire,” Qian Duoduo said.

”You get spiritual power from eating it?”

”It nourishes.” Qian Duoduo tapped the ladle against the pot rim. ”How much you gain depends on your own foundation.”

The man didnʼt ask more. He took a bowl. On his way off, he glanced back at Shi Po—watched him carry a stack of empty bowls steady as a rock—and said nothing.

A townsperson came and crouched by the stall, asking to borrow a bowl on credit, promising to pay at the next market day. Qian Duoduo laid the ladle flat across the pot: ”No credit. Two stones. Put them down and take it.”

The man felt the money pouch at his chest, stood up, and left.

A He stuffed money into the cloth sack, then said abruptly, ”Sect Master, why did he ask about our rank?”

”He asked for the seven other sects to hear,” Xu Yan said.

A He thought a moment. ”So weʼre the lowest of the Eight Great Sects.”

”Eighth rank.” Xu Yan said. ”Thereʼs no rule written anywhere saying only a certain rank may guard the gate. The gate is on our land. We guard it.”

”What if we rise in rank?”

”Weʼll talk about that when it happens.”

A He pulled the sackʼs mouth tight, hugged it to his chest, and went back to collecting money.

By the end of the Si hour, both pots were scraped clean to the bottom. Qian Duoduo ran the ladle around the base, scraping out half a scoop, and poured it into the bowl A Sui held out. ”Two pots, ten bottles. Both empty.”

The grain shopʼs door was open; the shopkeeper worked an abacus on the steps. Qian Duoduo reported the two pots, and Shi Po set the baskets down beside the scale. One pot, five spirit stones. The grain was weighed and poured into the baskets, the two empty pots overturned on top. Shi Po lifted the pole, settled it on his shoulder.

They left town at the Wei hour. The sun hung west; on the mountain road, shadows leaned east. A He and A Sui walked ahead, A Sui still clutching two unsold tallies.

Shi Po carried the load behind them, the two empty pots knocking against the baskets.

”Sect Master.”

”Mm.”

”The one who asked about rank—which sect was he?”

”Wanshou Mountain.”

Shi Po grunted, shifted the pole to the other shoulder. The two pots tapped once, rang out, then went silent.