My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 140: The West Slope

April 26, the hour of Si.

The wooden target under the eaves thudded once, a dull sound. Huo Qing drew his sword back, left hand dropping to his side. A bit of wood dust fell out of the crater in the targetʼs center, landing on the blue stone floor.

He waited for the target to stop quivering, then raised his hand and thrust again. This strike was slower than the last; the tip touched dead center and stopped, not sinking in.

That section of wood on the target—theyʼd said back on April 22, under the eaves, that it needed replacing.

Over by the kitchen, A He came out carrying a wooden basin. Water sloshed in it, two drops spilling onto the steps. A Sui crouched under the eaves counting tally sticks. She stopped somewhere past thirty, looked up toward the corridor, then lowered her head again.

In the Accounts Room, Xu Yan finished recording the income from the market day on the 25th: two pots of spirit meals, ten bottles of Qi-Gathering Powder, entry by entry. At the bottom he added a line for supplemental spirit rice. He set the brush down. Voices came from the direction of the Mountain Gate, muffled by the eaves of the Main Hall so that only half a sentence carried over.

Huo Qing took his sword off the target, slung it diagonally across his back, and pulled the strap over his left shoulder, tying it at his chest.

Xu Yan stepped out of the Accounts Room and walked to the Mountain Gate.

Outside stood a man in Heavenly Sword Sect robes, a cloth bundle tucked under one arm, mountain dust on the tops of his shoes. Nie Bo stood nearby with a broom, the broom frozen mid-air as he waited for the man to finish speaking.

”Sect Master Xu.” The man cupped his hands. ”Senior Brother Wei will come to inspect the gate at the hour of Wu.”

”The hour of Wu,” Xu Yan said.

”The hour of Wu.” The man repeated it as if nailing the time into the ground.

”Just him?”

”Senior Brother Wei will bring two disciples,” the man said. ”Thatʼs all.”

When he finished, his eyes flicked past the Mountain Gate. They landed on the wooden target under the eaves, then on Huo Qing walking over from the corridor. He shifted the cloth bundle to his other arm and headed down the mountain.

Huo Qing walked to the edge of the gate, went into the firewood shed, and came out with a chopping knife tucked at his hip.

”The West Slope,” he said.

Xu Yan didnʼt ask. The old target by the firewood shed needed replacing—theyʼd said so on April 22, under the eaves.

”The watch at the hour of You.”

”Wonʼt be late.”

Huo Qing went out the Mountain Gate and up the slope path to the west. The knife at his hip knocked against his hip bone, once, then again. Nie Bo drew his broom aside, giving him half a step of room, then resumed sweeping, stroke by stroke.

Xu Yan stood at the Mountain Gate, watching the road swallow the man up. The sound of the knife against Huo Qingʼs hip grew distant, faded, and only then did he return to the Accounts Room.

At the end of the hour of Si, Jiang Wan and Bai Xiaoman came down from the Back Mountain.

”Bring them up at the hour of Wu?” Jiang Wan asked.

”Mm.”

”The seal strip?”

”Nobody touches it,” Xu Yan said. ”Not their hands, not our hands.”

Jiang Wan nodded once, shifted her sword to her other shoulder, and headed toward the East Courtyard. Bai Xiaoman followed two steps, then turned back. ”What if he reaches for it?”

”He wonʼt.”

”How do you know?”

”If he meant to reach for it, he wouldnʼt have waited until the hour of Wu.”

Bai Xiaoman thought for a moment, then caught up with Jiang Wan.

At the hour of Wu, the sun pressed straight down on the blue stone ground of the Front Courtyard.

Wei Changge climbed the last steps of the mountain path. The cloth wrapped around his sword lifted in the wind, slapping against his back, again and again. Behind him two disciples walked, one on each side.

Xu Yan stood inside the Mountain Gate. ”Daoyou Wei.”

Wei Changge didnʼt answer. His eyes passed over Xu Yanʼs shoulder and into the sect grounds, moving from the corridor to the eaves of the Main Hall, then west from the eaves to the thin line of smoke rising from the Medicine Hall. He surveyed half the courtyard before stepping inside.

”This way,” Xu Yan said.

They crossed the Front Courtyard, skirted the Main Hall, and headed toward the Ancestral Hall. Footsteps on the blue stone, one behind another. No one spoke on the way.

Smoke seeped from a gap in the tiles at the back wall of the Medicine Hall, carrying a faint medicinal scent. One of the disciples behind took a breath and turned his head toward it.

The Ancestral Hallʼs door was open. Wei Changge stopped outside the threshold and looked at the ancestral tablets inside, then continued north.

Past the Ancestral Hall, the mountain path ran north: two li, a two-quarter-hour walk. The slope was steep, the ground covered in a layer of pine needles that swallowed all sound. Wei Changge led, his pace even; the two disciples followed, one of them starting to breathe harder.

Two quarters of an hour brought them to the Formation Eye. A formation plate sat on the stone platform, five grooves cut into it. Wei Changge walked past without stopping.

Beyond that, the cliff face rose, a few zhang of mountain path, and there in the stone wall was the door.

Shao Ming and Du Xiaochuan stood three paces in front of it, one left, one right, feet planted. Du Xiaochuanʼs eyes followed Wei Changge. Shao Ming watched only his hands.

Wei Changge stopped before the door, standing back even farther than those three paces. First he looked at the seal strip on the door: fresh paper, the paste at all four edges still unwrinkled. The ink read ”Alliance Year 301, Fourth Month, Sixteenth Day,” still clear. Then he looked at the crack between the two stone panels—a fingerʼs width wide. Wind came up from below, making the hem of his robe sway. Fine dust at the base of the crack was dragged outward by the draft.

He did not reach out. His hands stayed at his sides.

He took two steps to the left, examining how the door met the cliff face. The stone surface there was even smoother than the door itself. The wind rose again, the cloth lifting into his face. He pressed it down with his left hand.

One of the disciples moved close to the door for a look, then raised his voice: ”Sect Master Xu, how deep does it go inside?”

”No one has been inside,” Xu Yan said. ”Weʼll know once the door opens.”

The disciple stepped back half a pace. The other kept his hands tucked in his sleeves, standing behind without a word.

Wei Changge turned his head and listened at the crack. The wind came in gusts, moving upward, uneven. He listened for a long time—long enough that Du Xiaochuan found himself tilting his head too, hearing nothing but wind.

”Wind moves upward,” Wei Changge said.

”Down,” he told the two disciples.

The descent was quick. Passing through the Front Courtyard, Wei Changge stopped under the eaves.

The wooden target stood against the wall base, its face splintered with pale gouges, a crater in the center with splinters curling up from its rim. He stood there, looking at that crater. He looked for a while. Xu Yan stood two paces behind him, silent, not pressing.

Wind stirred in the Front Courtyard. A strip of old cloth hanging under the eaves swayed twice.

One of Wei Changgeʼs disciples followed his gaze to the target, then glanced toward the Main Hall, and kept his mouth shut.

Wei Changge turned and went out the Mountain Gate, his two disciples behind him. Nie Boʼs broom drew aside, yielding half a step.

At the hour of Wei, Pang Ce of Jinding Pavilion arrived with two disciples. His robe was neatly tucked, and after a stretch of mountain path, little dust clung to his shoes.

”Sect Master Xu.” He stood before the door, first studying the cliff face beside it—whether the stoneʼs grain ran through unbroken or had been interrupted in the middle. Then he raised his hand toward the seal strip, stopping one inch short of the paper. He withdrew it. That inch was precisely held, his fingertip level with the paperʼs surface, as if measured. Shao Mingʼs shoulders shifted forward half an inch, then settled back.

”Not touching,” Pang Ce said.

”The Branch posted the seal,” Xu Yan said.

”I know.” Pang Ce clasped his hands behind his back. ”So the door is stone?”

”Stone.”

”One solid piece?”

”Not sure.”

Pang Ce moved half a step closer and studied the crack. He pulled his sleeve down and tapped the stone beside the door twice with his finger, listening to the sounds. Solid, no echo at all. He withdrew his hand only after listening.

”Wind comes from inside, so the paper bulges outward,” he said. ”One month of this, and the paper will need replacing.”

”When they seal the gate again, the Branch will post it fresh.”

Pang Ce nodded once. ”Sealed or not, this door still belongs to Qingya?”

”The deed records no door,” Xu Yan said. ”The door is on Qingya land.”

Pang Ce brought his hands out from behind his back and wiped them on his sleeve. ”Sect Master Xu, on opening day, the person counting heads at the door will be a clerk from the Branch?”

”A clerk.”

”Reading names off the list, one by one—each answers, each enters?”

”Off the list.”

”Rice in town has gone up these past few days,” Pang Ce said. ”Jinding Pavilion stays in the East Courtyard and pays the same price.”

”Up by how much?”

”Three wen.”

Xu Yan said nothing. Pang Ce led his two disciples down the mountain. At the bend in the path, one disciple looked back at the door.

At the hour of Shen, Huo Qing came back from the West Slope. A load of firewood rested across his shoulders, his left hand steadying the front rope. The cut ends were even, showing pale wood.

He set the load down at the firewood shed door and stacked it bundle by bundle. Cheng Banshan came out of the Medicine Hall, one hand on the doorframe, watching the shed.

”Pick out the wet pieces, spread them under the eaves,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Pile them with the dry ones and not a single stove will catch.”

”Half of itʼs wet,” Huo Qing said.

”The West Slope faces south. How is it wet?”

”Stone outcroppings block the sun higher up.”

Cheng Banshan grunted and went back inside.

When Huo Qing finished stacking, he pulled the chopping knife from his hip and hung it on the nail in the wall. A blister had risen on the web of his left hand; the skin had broken, leaving a raw red patch. He glanced at it, wiped his hand on his shirtfront, and did not go to the Medicine Hall.

A Sui ran over from the kitchen and stood at the firewood shed door, looking at the load. ”Is West Slope wood hard?”

”Hard.”

”Does it burn well?”

”Very well.”

A Sui made a small sound of acknowledgment and walked off, fiddling with the tally stick in her hand.

Xu Yan stood at the shed door. ”They came to look at the gate, then left.”

”Mm,” Huo Qing said.

”The gate wasnʼt touched.”

Huo Qing nodded once and pushed the last bundle farther in. The wet half lay spread under the eaves, one piece overlapping the next.

At the end of the hour of Shen, dinner in the Main Hall. The stove had coarse grain from this monthʼs ration. A He carried the bowls; A Sui set out the chopsticks.

”They looked?” Jiang Wan asked.

”They looked,” Xu Yan said. ”Jinding Pavilion came in the hour of Wei too.”

”Did the Heavenly Sword man say anything?”

”No. His disciple said a couple of things, then they went down.”

Jiang Wan lifted her bowl and glanced toward Huo Qing. He held his chopsticks in his left hand, the raw red patch showing past his sleeve. She didnʼt ask, and lowered her head to eat. No one at the table mentioned the West Slope, and no one mentioned the target.

Qian Duoduo asked, ”More coming tomorrow?”

”I donʼt know,” Xu Yan said. ”If they announce themselves at the Mountain Gate, Iʼll take them up.”

”The thirtieth market day—still two pots?”

”Two pots.”

Before the lamps were lit, in the Accounts Room, Xu Yan wrote at the bottom of the gate-watch page: April 26, two parties came to inspect the gate, seal strip untouched. The next line began fresh: rice, one dou, up three wen.

At the hour of You, Huo Qing lifted the lamp from beside the wall. Shi Po sorted out the rope end under the eaves and stood waiting at the foot of the steps.

The two of them headed up, one behind the other, past the Main Hall, past the Ancestral Hall. Behind the Ancestral Hall, Huo Qing paused a step and looked back.

Dusk had swallowed the wooden target under the eaves. Only a black outline remained; the crater in its center was no longer visible.

He turned, raised the lamp a little higher, and moved up the slope. The lampʼs glow rounded the corner of the wall, and the Front Courtyard dimmed by a shade.