My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 142: The Empty Ledger Under the Lamp

At the Zi hour, Qi Qi came to the Accounts Room door to get him. The two of them carried a lantern and climbed up behind the Ancestral Hall, pine needles soft underfoot. Two li, two quarter-hours. Wind came down from above, pushing the lamp flame sideways; he had to cup a hand around it to keep it from knocking against the glass.

At the gate, Huo Qing and Shi Po stood one to each side, three paces out. At Shi Poʼs feet lay a coil of rope, the ends dressed neat, wrapped three times around, the tail tucked into the innermost loop.

”The gate hasnʼt moved.” Huo Qing handed over his lantern.

Xu Yan took it and asked, ”The wind?”

”Comes in gusts, hasnʼt let up.” Huo Qing said. ”Rises from below, dies out around knee height.”

Xu Yan stepped onto the three-pace line. The breath from the crack hugged the ground, striking his shins, cold as water just drawn from a well, seeping through his trousers.

Shi Po bent and hoisted the rope onto his shoulder. ”Cold at night.”

Qi Qi crouched to look at the coil. ”That rope of yours—neater than a belt around a manʼs waist.”

”Carrying the pot tomorrow.” Shi Po said.

”Tomorrowʼs the thirtieth, Iʼm on the Zi-to-Yin shift, canʼt make it.” Qi Qi brushed the dust from his hands and jerked his chin at him. ”Third pillar from the wall—take a look for me, see if itʼs still there.”

”It is.” Shi Po said.

Huo Qing shifted the sword on his back up higher and started down the mountain first. A dozen or so paces out, Shi Po turned back, lowered the rope from his shoulder, and tucked it further under the rock before following.

Qi Qi watched his back. ”Even his rope has to be set square.”

Xu Yan didnʼt answer. He watched the two of them go down the slope one after the other, the lantern light bending behind the Ancestral Hall, gone from sight. Only then did he turn back to the gate.

The stone ground in front of the gate had been trodden by the Eight Sectsʼ people for days, footprints layered one over another. The stretch by the gate had been blown cleaner by the wind. The seal strip lay across the join between the two doors, one corner of the paper lifted, then pressed back down, the paste unbroken. The vermilion seal straddled the crack, half on the left panel, half on the right. The date written on the paper in ink was still clear in the lantern light.

Qi Qi set the lantern between two stones so the light spread, then sat down himself, legs stretched out. The light didnʼt reach the top of the gate, only the section with the seal strip.

Xu Yan walked the three-pace line from east end to west, feeling his way forward one inch at a time. This patch of stone was flatter than the other rock along the mountain path. Along the edge near the gate ran an old chisel mark, cut deep, dirt packed into it. The narrow-leaf grass at the base of the cliff face to the left of the gate hung low under the weight of the dew, a few blades bent sideways.

”From here looking south, Luoxia Townʼs lights are just a few dots.” Qi Qi said.

The mountain below was black, yellow points scattered in seven or eight places. The two lamps at the wharf hung high, the brightest. The innʼs end was a solid cluster. One lamp in the grain shopʼs back courtyard, low to the ground. A fire by the roadside outside the quarry, red and squat. A single point at the Earth God Shrine door, dimming each time the wind blew.

Qi Qi counted them off one by one, stopping at the stone workshopʼs courtyard. ”Gone dark.”

”Asleep.” Xu Yan said.

”The Eight Sectsʼ people watched the gate all day. They looked closer than we do.” Qi Qi folded his arms. ”That patch of ground the one in yellow-brown pressed his hand on—I looked at it in the daytime. The dustʼs been blown thin.”

”Mm.”

”He said the space under the gate isnʼt shallow. What did he mean.”

”Donʼt know.”

Qi Qi waited, and when no more came, changed tack. ”Those ten names of ours—settled yet?”

”Not yet.”

”If I canʼt get in, Iʼll stay on the mountain and hold it down for you all.”

Xu Yan glanced at him. ”Once the gateʼs open, there are no shifts.”

Qi Qi opened his mouth, then laughed once. ”True enough. Is it dark in there?”

”Donʼt know.”

”Once weʼre in, just follow the stone steps. Walk to the bottom, and thatʼs the bottom.”

”Walk to the bottom—maybe it isnʼt the bottom.” Xu Yan said.

Qi Qi looked at him, didnʼt take that up, drew his legs in and crossed them.

Insects called from the rock crevices, a stretch of calls, then a stretch of silence. When the wind slackened, you could hear the river below the mountain; when the wind came up, you could hear nothing at all. The lamp wick burned low, the flame pressed against the glass.

”Qian Duoduo soaked the spirit rice last night.” Qi Qi rested his chin on his knees. ”He says for the thirtieth market, those Eight Sects people will come buy again.”

”Mm.”

”This lamp oilʼs about out too.” Qi Qi flicked the base of the lamp with a finger. ”Iʼll ask the storeroom when I get back.”

”Thereʼs still half a jar in the storeroom.” Xu Yan said. ”Enough to last till the gate opens.”

At the Chou hour, Qi Qiʼs words thinned out. His head nodded, and finally he leaned against the rock face and slept, mouth mumbling twice, then he turned over and buried his face in his arm.

Xu Yan lifted the lamp shade and reached in, nudgeing the wick up slightly. Below, on the formation eye, that square stone platform sat dark, each of the five grooves holding a stone, no light to be seen. A single point of light from the Ancestral Hall side—the window of the Medicine Hall, bright for a while, then pressed by the wind to a mere line.

After some time, the lamp in the stone workshopʼs courtyard came on again, a point of yellow, lower than before.

Qi Qi woke once, lifted his head. ”Which shift now?”

”Chou hour.”

”Then Iʼll lean a while longer.” He wrapped his clothes tighter and slept again.

The wind turned direction, coming off the cliff face, flattening the seal strip against the stone slab, holding it there, then releasing. Xu Yan stood for a spell, squatted for a spell, elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving that finger-wide crack. Before dawn he sat cross-legged for a round of breathing. The qi traveled to his dantian, circled once, and retreated to where it had started, same as always.

At the Yin hour, the ridge line was still black, the wind at its coldest. He stood, gathered his front placket, and walked toward the gate.

Qi Qi woke at once, grabbed the lantern, and followed.

Xu Yan stopped at the spot where that palm had pressed. The wind had worn the dust thin, leaving a shallow print, the five fingers still visible. He first touched the ledger inside his robe, fingers pressing against the cloth, then drew it out and spread it open on his palm.

Qi Qi raised the lantern, the light falling on the page.

The first line surfaced.

[Debit: Heritage 10 points, open inventory.]

Below it, another line.

[Debit: Heritage 1 point, inventory: underfoot.]

Wind came through the crack; a corner of the page quivered. He held it down with his thumb. The third line appeared, longer than the first two.

[Balance: Third level. The third level, sealed, this ledger opens.]

The fourth line.

[Balance: Heritage 22 points.]

Four lines sat there, the ink not yet dry.

He read the third line again from beginning to end. The characters had not changed. He recognized every one of them, and there was nowhere to ask. The wind on his face was cold; he narrowed his eyes.

He closed the ledger. The sweat on his palm left a damp print on the cover, which dried quickly.

Then he raised his head and looked at the crack, at the seal strip. The seal strip had not moved. His foot shifted forward half a step, then withdrew, and he stood outside the three-pace line.

What would be left in the ledger if he drew this stroke, he didnʼt need to count to know. There was still much to see ahead. The times he could open it were not many.

Qi Qi stood beside him holding the lantern. In its light the old ledger paper was yellow, the edges worn and fraying, and not a single character on it.

”Whatʼs the Sect Master looking at?”

”Looking at the ledger.”

”This ledger—the paperʼs gone all yellow. Can it still be written on?”

”Yes.”

Qi Qi drew the lantern back a little, stepped back half a pace himself, and stood outside the three-pace line too. He asked nothing more.

Xu Yan tucked the ledger back into his robe and raised his head at the crack. The crack was still finger-wide, wind gusting, gone as soon as it emerged. The spot against his chest, against his bare skin, was colder than the stone.

At the Mao hour, daylight rose over the eastern ridge, first lighting the stone platform of the formation eye. Jiang Wan came up carrying her sword, Bai Xiaoman behind her, a charcoal stick and a sheet of paper folded twice in her hand. Jiang Wanʼs sleeve had caught a fleck of grass on the way up the mountain.

Jiang Wan stopped three paces out, looked at the gate, studied the seal strip for a long moment, then looked at Xu Yan. ”How was the night?”

”The wind never stopped.”

Bai Xiaoman crouched and studied the crack beneath the seal strip for a long while, then unfolded the paper. ”The Yin hour box—what do I write?”

”Wind.” Xu Yan said.

”One entry per hour, three entries on my shift.” Bai Xiaoman made a mark on the paper, folded it, and tucked it into her sleeve. ”Iʼll copy it into the ledger for you to check later.”

Qi Qi handed the lantern to Bai Xiaoman and asked, ”The day the gate opens—whatʼs the first thing we do?”

Xu Yan pressed the ledger inside his robe. ”Count heads. Go in.”

Jiang Wan switched her sword to her other hand and looked at the shadows under Xu Yanʼs eyes. ”Go down and sleep.”

”Mm.”

He and Qi Qi descended to the stone platform of the formation eye, dew from the grass wetting the front halves of their shoes. Qi Qi said nothing the whole way, only speaking when they reached the back of the Ancestral Hall. ”Sect Master, Iʼll lie down in the West Wing for a bit. Do you call me at Chen hour?”

”Yes.”

Below the stone steps, Shao Ming was guiding the two children in breathing exercises. A He stalled halfway through his formula, and A Sui picked it up from there, then wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

Shao Ming looked up. ”Sect Master.”

Xu Yan nodded. A Sui asked, ”Sect Master, is it cold on the back mountain?”

”Cold.”

Further on was the front courtyard. The kitchen smoke had just risen, a thin line, straight up. The Medicine Hallʼs smoke was thicker, scattering as soon as it left the eaves.

The Accounts Room door swung open, a smell of paper. He felt in the drawer for the fire starter, blew it alight, lit the lamp on the desk, and put the fire starter back.

Under the inkstone lay a sheet of paper, written on the night of the twenty-seventh: Xuanshui Palace, ask whether there is the sound of water inside the gate. He pulled it out, read it once, and put it back under the inkstone, nudging the corner in half a fen further.

The ledger lay open to the gate-watch page. The corner was folded, line after line written downward: the date, the people on duty, the sects that had come to inspect the gate. He ground ink, thin ink, and when heʼd finished the line, the characters were somewhat pale. He breathed on them and waited for them to dry.

Fourth Month, 29th, Zi to Yin, gate watch: Xu Yan, Qi Qi.

The ink dried slowly. He sat and waited, not touching the ledger inside his robe. The brush went back on its rest. He turned two pages ahead in the ledger, then back. He added no other characters. This monthʼs running ledger was in another book. He went through it page by page to the final stroke, the brush tip pausing there, but did not commit ink.

Then he drew the land deed from between the ledgerʼs pages.

The paper was thicker than the ledger pages, the edges worn and fraying. He spread it on the desk, smoothing it flat with his palms from the center outward. The four boundaries were four lines of writing. At the end of the eastern boundary hung the phrase: ”per the Dongzhou Boundary Map of the First Year of the Alliance.”

His finger read line by line, stopping at the northern boundary.

North to the cliff top of the Back Mountain.

Outside the window it grew light, a thin white glow showing through the window paper. His finger stayed on that line for a while. Only then did he fold the deed back along its original crease, tuck it into the ledger, press the book once with both palms, and let go.