My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 141: The Daoist Before the Formation Eye

April 27th, Horse hour.

Two figures emerged on the mountain path. The one in front wore pale clothes, sleeves rolled to the elbow, walking slowly; behind followed a disciple, a bamboo tube hanging at his waist, the tube knocking against his hip with every step.

Farther back, separated by a stretch of road, two more came up. The one in front was thin, hands clasped behind his back.

Xu Yan stood just inside the Mountain Gate, waiting for them to reach the foot of the stone steps.

”Fellow Daoist Lin. Fellow Daoist Tan.”

Lin Lian nodded once. Tan Shuo only took his hands out from behind his back when he reached the gate, and gave a brief salute.

Nie Boʼs broom paused mid-air, waited for them to pass, then resumed its steady back-and-forth sweep.

”This way,” Xu Yan said.

They crossed the Front Courtyard, skirting the Main Hall. Smoke drifted up from the Kitchen toward the eaves. A He came across the steps with a wooden basin, slowed when he saw strangers, steadied the basin and went around the back of the Kitchen; A Sui crouched beneath the eaves counting tallies, lost count halfway, pinched the one in her hand and started over from the beginning.

The Ancestral Hall doors were open. Lin Lian paused outside the threshold and glanced at the tablets within. Tan Shuo didnʼt stop, following Xu Yan north.

Two li, two quarter-hours. The slope was steep; Lin Lian fell behind, while Tan Shuo stayed at Xu Yanʼs heels, never missing a step.

Shao Ming and Du Xiaochuan stood flanking the gate, three paces out.

Lin Lian stopped before she reached the three-pace line. She stared at the seam between the two stone doors, then crouched down. Her hem dropped to the ground and she paid it no mind. She tucked a hand behind her ear and leaned in until her face was half a foot from the crack, tilting her head.

Wind came through the seam, lifting the hair from her forehead a little.

She crouched for a long time. Du Xiaochuan shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

”Is there water inside—the sound of it?” she asked, her eyes never leaving the crack.

”I didnʼt hear any,” Xu Yan said.

Lin Lian didnʼt rise. She kept listening. The wind struck her face in gusts, her hem moving with it. After a long while she stood. A small patch of dust clung to one knee.

Only then did Tan Shuo approach the gate. He didnʼt crouch. He first studied the seal strip, from one end to the other, then the seam beneath it, watching fine dust drag along the bottom as the wind pulled it out.

”From the Mountain Gate to here—how far?” he asked.

”Two li past the Ancestral Hall.”

”Two quarter-hours.”

”Two quarter-hours.”

Tan Shuo looked back down the way they had come, his gaze pausing on the slope before he turned back to the seam. He didnʼt reach out, didnʼt speak again, just turned and started down.

Lin Lian walked slowly. At the side of the gate she stopped. ”Sect Master Xu, since the gate was sealed, has this seam always let out wind?”

”I donʼt know,” Xu Yan said. ”Weʼll only know on the day the seal is opened.”

She nodded and followed down.

Neither of them paused at the Formation Eye. The formation plate on the stone platform had stones seated in all five slots, sunlight on the stone surface, a thin layer of dust along the slot edges. Lin Lian walked past the platformʼs edge. Tan Shuo walked past the platformʼs edge. Neither reached toward it.

At the Mountain Gate, Tan Shuo saluted and went out first. Lin Lian stood on the threshold. ”See you the day the gate opens.”

”See you the day the gate opens,” Xu Yan said.

She led the disciple with the bamboo tube down the mountain. At the bend in the path, the tube was still empty—it knocked, and it rang.

You hour, Huo Qing lifted the lamp from beside the wall, Shi Po coiled the rope end beneath the eaves, and the two climbed the Back Mountain one after the other.

Late You hour, Shao Ming and Du Xiaochuan came down from the Back Mountain.

”How long did that woman crouch in front of the gate?” Du Xiaochuan asked as soon as he entered the Front Courtyard.

”She wasnʼt crouching,” Shao Ming said. ”She was listening.”

”Listening to what?”

”Water,” Xu Yan said.

Du Xiaochuan thought for a moment. ”Thereʼs water behind the gate?”

”I donʼt know,” Xu Yan said. ”She asked whether there was water inside. I said I didnʼt hear any.”

Lamps were lit, dinner in the Main Hall. The stove still steamed this monthʼs coarse grain. A He carried the bowls, A Sui laid out the chopsticks.

”What did the one from Xuanshui Palace ask?” Jiang Wan asked.

”Whether there was water behind the gate.”

Jiang Wanʼs chopsticks paused mid-air. ”Water?”

”I said I didnʼt hear any.”

”When I stood in front of that gate, all I could make out was wind,” Du Xiaochuan said.

”The wind turns corners inside,” Shao Ming said. ”Wind that travels straight doesnʼt sound like that.”

”Where wind turns corners, somethingʼs always blocking it,” Cheng Banshan said, a bowl cradled in one palm.

Xu Yan didnʼt respond. He finished the rice in his bowl.

Qian Duoduo set his bowl on the table. ”The market on the thirtieth—still two pots?”

”Two pots.”

”Not one of the Eight Sects has left; theyʼre all still in town,” Qian Duoduo said. ”They buy our spirit meals, pay in full. People in town ask when the gate opens. I told them the fifth of the fifth month.”

”Keep saying that.”

A Sui finished arranging the chopsticks and stood by the stool. ”On the fifth of the fifth, I want to see the gate open.”

”Youʼll see it,” Xu Yan said. ”That day, someone still has to watch the pot.”

After the lamps were lit, in the Accounts Room. Xu Yan added a line at the bottom of the gate-watch page: April 27, Xuanshui Palace and Lihuo Hall came to inspect the gate. Seal strip undisturbed.

He took out a separate sheet of paper and wrote a line, pressing it under the inkstone: Xuanshui Palace asked whether there was water behind the gate. As he pressed it down, the paperʼs corner caught the edge of an older sheet beneath, and half a line showed through: Asked where the riverʼs water comes from. He aligned the two pagesʼ edges and pressed them back together.

The 28th, Dragon hour, Mountain Gate.

Xu Yan came down from the Back Mountain, night chill still in his clothes. Heʼd kept the Zi-to-Yin watch through Mao hour, when Jiang Wan and Bai Xiaoman came up to relieve him.

”The gate hasnʼt moved,” Xu Yan said. ”Now that youʼre here, Iʼll head down and sleep.”

Too soon.

There were people outside the Mountain Gate. A tall one, broad-shouldered, one foot planted on the lowest step, a disciple behind him with arms crossed. Across the road stood another, plainly dressed, also with one attendant, motionless by the gate.

”Sect Master Xu.” The tall one spoke first, his voice echoing off the courtyard walls. ”Wanshou Mountain, Xiong Dai.”

”Fellow Daoist Xiong.” Xu Yan walked out. ”Zixia Palace, Fellow Daoist Qin.”

Qin Ruo nodded.

Xu Yan turned and led them in. They passed behind the Ancestral Hall heading north. A few steps later, Xiong Dai said from up ahead, ”How was this gate uncovered?”

”The fourth month, ninth day, late Yin hour. Earth tremor. It cracked open.”

”Cracked neatly.” Xiong Dai didnʼt slow. ”Something shifted in the mountain, and a gate opened.”

Xu Yan didnʼt answer.

The Dragon-hour sun had only just reached the halfway slope. At the Formation Eye, Xiong Dai passed by the stone platform without so much as a glance at the formation plate. A few zhang higher, the gate stood in the cliff face.

Jiang Wan and Bai Xiaoman stood three paces out. Bai Xiaoman pinched a stick of charcoal in one hand, a black smudge across her cuff.

Xiong Dai stopped before the gate. He studied the seal strip first, then the seam. Wind came through, flipping the hem of his robe. He turned sideways, let the wind pass, then swept his eyes over the rock patterns beside the gate, top to bottom.

His gaze settled on Bai Xiaoman.

”The gate watcher,” he said. ”Qi Condensation First Layer?”

Bai Xiaoman didnʼt answer. Her hands hung at her sides, feet planted.

Jiang Wan stood half a step from her, sword still sheathed, eyes never leaving Xiong Dai.

Xiong Dai waited a while, laughed, then turned back to Xu Yan. ”The landlord sect keeps watch—keeps it at night too?”

”The rules say gate watch,” Xu Yan said. ”Four shifts around the clock.”

”Four shifts.” Xiong Dai repeated the words, took another half-step forward. ”Tight watch.”

”Fellow Daoist Xiong,” Xu Yan said. ”The watch is three paces back.”

Xiong Daiʼs foot hung in the air. When it came down, heʼd withdrawn half a step. He looked at Xu Yan, then at the gate. ”An Eighth-Rank gate, guarded tighter than a First-Rank one.”

With that, he turned and left.

Qin Ruo didnʼt follow. Sheʼd been silent the whole way, and now she didnʼt approach the gate either. She stood at the cliff wall beside it, studying the few clumps of grass growing from the rock crevices—narrow leaves, hugging the ground, right at the crackʼs edge, blown inward by the wind. She crouched, reached out a hand, touched a blade with a fingertip, drew it back and rubbed it between her fingers, then raised it to her nose.

Then she stood, looked at no one, and started down the mountain.

Xiong Dai went down after her. At the Front Courtyard he turned and called back, ”Sect Master Xu, keeping a beast on your mountain would serve better than keeping a First-Layer human.”

”Keeping humans,” Xu Yan said. ”Humans keep the gate.”

Xiong Dai went out the Mountain Gate. Nie Bo drew his broom aside.

Only then did Jiang Wan let her shoulders drop a little. Bai Xiaoman spoke first. ”First Layer.”

”So what if itʼs First Layer,” Jiang Wan said.

”He was asking about the gate watcher.”

”The gate hasnʼt moved,” Bai Xiaoman said. ”My shift is six hours. I mark it every two. Itʼs all written down.”

Jiang Wan glanced at her. ”Good that itʼs written.”

Late Snake hour, Jiang Wan and Bai Xiaoman came down and handed the watch to Shao Ming and Du Xiaochuan. Xu Yan added a line to the gate-watch page: April 28, Dragon hour, Wanshou Mountain and Zixia Palace came to inspect the gate. Seal strip undisturbed.

When heʼd finished, he went to stand at the Medicine Hall door. Cheng Banshan was dumping herb dregs out of a small winnowing basket, shaking it twice with one hand.

”The one from Zixia Palace spent a long time staring at the grass in the rock cracks,” Xu Yan said.

”Grass in rock cracks isnʼt worth anything,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Wind gets at it, rain doesnʼt. Smells clean, but thereʼs no medicinal strength in it.”

”She rubbed a blade between her fingers.”

Cheng Banshan set the basket against the wall. ”Then what did she smell?”

”She didnʼt say.”

”Didnʼt say means she couldnʼt tell.” Cheng Banshan went back into the Medicine Hall.

Before Horse hour, Xu Yan dozed briefly at the desk in the Accounts Room. When A Sui came to fetch him, he raised his head with a crease pressed into his face.

”Sect Master, two people at the Mountain Gate. One in gray robes, one in ochre.”

”Hair pinned up?”

”Pinned at the crown. Wooden hairpin.”

The 28th, Horse hour.

Outside the Mountain Gate, the one in gray robes stood in front—wide sleeves, cloth shoes, the tops dusted with mountain dirt. The one in ochre stood beside him, hands hanging, thick fingers, thick nails.

”Fellow Daoist Ke. Fellow Daoist Gan.”

Ke Wujiu saluted, bowing a little deeper than most. Gan Ren saluted too, without speaking.

On the path up the mountain, Ke Wujiu walked slowly, lifting his eyes to the cliff wall at every bend. Gan Ren followed three steps behind, his feet landing on stone without a sound.

At the Formation Eye, Ke Wujiu stopped.

He stood at the stone platformʼs edge. He didnʼt step up. He looked first at the five slots, from the eastern one to the center, then at the five formation stones seated in them—one by one. Sunlight fell on the platform, and he used the light to study the carved lines along the slotsʼ edges.

”Fellow Daoist Ke,” Xu Yan said, ”this is Qingyaʼs Formation Eye. It isnʼt covered by the rules. The gate is above.”

Ke Wujiu lifted his eyes from the platform. ”Five slots.”

”Five slots.”

”Formation stones in place.”

”In place.”

He nodded and climbed. Gan Ren never once glanced at the platform.

At the gate, Shao Ming and Du Xiaochuan had already taken their positions three paces out.

Ke Wujiu stopped before the gate. Like the previous sects, he examined the seal strip, then the seam, and didnʼt reach out. He walked two steps to the side and studied how the gate met the rock wall, then turned back, saying nothing.

Gan Ren didnʼt stop at the gateʼs side. He walked to directly in front of it, two paces out, and crouched.

He pressed his right palm flat against the stone ground, fingers spread, on the slab beneath the gate. Wind came through the seam and played over the back of his neck. He didnʼt look up.

Du Xiaochuan opened his mouth. Shao Ming shot him a look, and he shut it.

Gan Ren held still. The tendons on the back of his hand rose, the heel of his palm flush with the stone, no gap. Sunlight slanted down from the cliff top and fell on his back, where sweat soaked a dark patch through his robe.

A long time later, he stood. His knee cracked.

He wiped the hand on his robe, leaving a gray streak. Then he turned and spoke only to Xu Yan: ”Sect Master Xu, beneath this gate—itʼs not shallow.”

”Weʼll know when it opens,” Xu Yan said.

Gan Ren nodded, then followed Ke Wujiu down the mountain, one in front of the other, their feet landing on pine needles without a sound.

On the stone before the gate remained a small patch of dust pressed away by a palm—the shape of five fingers, just a shade lighter than the surrounding ground.

Xu Yan walked over, crouched down, and held his palm above that patch of dust without pressing down.

Wind came through the seam and blew across the back of his hand.