My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 149: No Footprints Coming Back

A thin line of light first appeared in the crack on the rock wall, crawling downward from above until it reached the stone by his feet, where a layer of fine sand in the soil became visible. Late Yin hour.

Xu Yanʼs Chou-Yin watch ended at this point. He felt around and retrieved the half torch resting by his knee, charred end pointing up, his fingers still black from yesterdayʼs soot.

Someone inside shifted. It was Qi Qi. He slept nearest the opening and woke at the slightest sound. Then a bread bundle rustled — Shi Po sat up, a patch of dirt sliding off his shoulder.

At Mao hour, everyone rose. Each person broke off half a piece of coarse grain flatbread; the water flask went around once, a small sip each, the rest saved. Qian Duoduo retied the bread bundle, and when he finished, looked up and asked, ”Can we get out today?”

”One branch at a time,” Xu Yan said.

Yesterdayʼs branch hadnʼt been finished, so today they continued inward. A dozen or so steps in, another fork, splitting into three: one branch left, one right, and further in, a low opening so short a person had to bend double to enter.

”Qi Qi, scout ahead a stretch. Donʼt take a second turn.”

Qi Qi rolled up his sleeves and crawled in. Qian Duoduo craned his neck after him. Bai Xiaoman counted off the directions he turned on her fingers. After a while, Qi Qi came back out, one hand covered in dust. ”The left branch keeps narrowing. At the end the walls squeeze so tight you have to turn sideways, and past that itʼs fallen rock, piled to the ceiling.”

Xu Yan walked to the left opening and pressed the charred end of the torch against the wall at chest height, drawing a line. ”Iʼll take a look. Shi Po, youʼre with me.”

The three of them squeezed in sideways. The walls pressed so close their shoulders nearly touched; Shi Po had to pull his shoulders in to get through. At the end was a heap of collapsed stone, stacked to the top, no draft from the cracks. Xu Yan pressed a horizontal line across the first mark, the two crossing into an X.

He came back out, and Cheng Banshan asked from the mouth of the branch, ”Blocked to the top?”

”Blocked to the top. No air moving through the cracks,” Xu Yan said.

They took the right branch. The ground here was dry, leaving clear prints underfoot. All ten of them went in. Cheng Banshan kept one hand on the rock wall, stopping every couple of steps, saying, ”No rushing back there.” Qian Duoduo passed his bread bundle forward first, then squeezed himself through. Huo Qing walked at the rear, left hand hanging at his side, following step by step in silence.

After a few dozen steps, marks on the walls multiplied — blade cuts, sword scars, charcoal streaks, old and new crowded together. Qi Qi stopped to look at the freshest one, made of charcoal. ”They turned back here too.”

”Turning back was the right call,” Xu Yan said.

Farther in, the path ended. Fallen rock pressed down from above, debris everywhere, every broken edge a fresh fracture. Jiang Wan looked up; there was only blackness above. Xu Yan pressed another X here, harder than before. Huo Qing walked to the rock pile, laid his left hand flat against the stone for a moment, then stepped back without a word.

Both branches were dead ends. Qi Qi crouched at the fork and tapped the dirt twice with a finger. ”These dead branches — footprints go both ways. Inward ones facing in, outward ones facing out.” Xu Yan glanced at him and filed that away.

At Si hour they stopped before a fissure in the rock. It opened in the wall, thin as a thread, water seeping through. The water ran down the face of the stone to a hollowed-out depression, collecting in a small pool. A ring of damp marked the poolʼs edge; beyond it, dry ground. Qian Duoduo stretched his neck from behind, a sound rising in his throat — ”Ah” — then clapped his own hand over his mouth.

Cheng Banshan was at the front. He reached one hand under the water and caught half a palmful, raised it to his lips and tasted, holding it in his mouth without swallowing. Only after a moment did he let it down. He didnʼt speak right away. He caught another half palm, brought it to his nose and smelled, and only then nodded.

”Itʼs drinkable.”

Qian Duoduo immediately shoved the bread bundle into Shi Poʼs arms and unhooked his own water flask. The ten flasks took their turns against the wall. The water ran thin; each flask took a good while to fill. Shi Po crouched at the bottom, holding the flask mouth to the fissure. When one filled, he passed it to Qi Qi, who passed it to Cheng Banshan, who supported the base with one hand while the mouth was screwed tight, weighing each one in his hand, only setting it aside when it felt full enough.

After seven or eight were filled, Qian Duoduo crouched down to count the rest. ”Two more to go.”

”Donʼt rush the water,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Water doesnʼt rush people. People rush water, and it spills.”

Bai Xiaoman took a sip and frowned. ”Colder than the mountain water.”

”Water from inside stone is cold,” Cheng Banshan said. ”It has a stony taste. Wonʼt hurt you.”

Ten flasks filled, each hung back on its ownerʼs belt. Jiang Wanʼs was last. She screwed the cap tight and placed it in Bai Xiaomanʼs hand. ”Yours is lighter than mine. Swap.” Bai Xiaoman protested — ”I drink less” — but still traded. When it came to Qian Duoduoʼs, he asked one more question: ”Is it enough?” Cheng Banshan said, ”Enough. Drink sparingly. Donʼt use it to wash bread.” Qian Duoduo hung his flask back on his belt and pressed it with his palm. The skin was taut and full, the cold seeping through his clothes. Only then did he smile.

At Wu hour they entered a narrow passage. A sound came from ahead. Qi Qi scouted a dozen or so steps before returning. ”Wanshou Mountain people, coming out from deeper in.”

This section pinched between two walls, room for only one person at a time, shoulders turned sideways to pass. Xu Yan raised a hand, and the Qingya group stopped, just flattening themselves against the rock when figures rounded the bend.

The Wanshou Mountain people came out one by one, bundles on their backs, tools in their hands, one hauling a length of rope. The first few went past with heads down, sidelong, looking at no one. One passed by Qian Duoduo and muttered something; the two behind him laughed, and then they were gone.

Last came Xiong Dai, nothing on his back. He came up to the row of Qingya people without slowing his step, and spoke first:

”The landlord walks last, last down the road too.”

Xu Yan stood at the outermost, pulling himself in another half-inch. ”After you, Brother Xiong.”

He turned to his own people: ”Stay against the wall. Feet in. Let them pass.”

Jiang Wan stepped out from behind Shi Po and positioned herself on Bai Xiaomanʼs outer side, one hand hanging at her side, not touching her sword. Bai Xiaoman blinked, pressed herself further back against the wall, and looked up at her. Jiang Wan didnʼt look back; she was watching the line of people coming through.

The Wanshou Mountain people passed one after another. The rope end on the man hauling it swung into Qian Duoduoʼs chest; he hugged the bread bundle higher, sucked in his stomach, his face reddening from holding his breath. Shi Po stood deepest in, his shoulder already pressed flat against the wall, but he still gave way, pulling in another half-inch as the rope carrier passed.

Xiong Dai passed within a foot of Xu Yan. He didnʼt stop and didnʼt say a second word, following the others out of the narrow passage toward the fork. Their footsteps faded before they cut off.

Once the group was gone, Qi Qi ran his hand over the walls and turned back, speaking low: ”No marks from them at this opening.”

”They came out from the inside,” Xu Yan said.

Qian Duoduo dropped onto a rock with a long exhale. ”What did he mean by that?”

”Heʼs saying weʼre slow,” Xu Yan said.

”Then we —”

”Slow means we get to look around more.”

After half an incense stickʼs rest, Qingya moved on. This branch was new. Xu Yan drew a mark at its mouth first. They entered and descended one ledge, then another — the path kept dropping until everyoneʼs knees ached. Shi Po carried the strap of Qian Duoduoʼs bundle for him the whole way. At the end, fallen rock had collapsed from above, deeper than the two previous dead ends. Qi Qiʼs scout was the shortest. He came back with just: ”Dead end.”

Xu Yan pressed an X. Three Xʼs today. He wiped the black soot from the torch onto his sleeve, stepped back, and looked once more at which walls bore those three Xʼs.

They returned to one of the forks. Late You hour. The light in the fissures dimmed patch by patch, keeping time with the fading sky outside. Xu Yan said, ”We rest here.”

Everyone sat against the stone wall. At Xu hour, they ate flatbread with the water flasks. With water today, Cheng Banshan broke off half a piece and soaked it in his flask cap, eating only once it had softened. When he finished, he licked the cap clean around the rim. ”Now thatʼs bread.” Qian Duoduo copied him and ended up with mush. ”Half is enough,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Soak it to mush and it just gums your mouth.”

Shi Po took the You-Xu watch. He sat at the mouth of the passage, back against the stone, unmoving for two full hours, glancing over whenever someone shifted.

At Hai hour, Shao Ming relieved him. Xu Yan lay down but slept poorly; the stone was cold, and he turned over twice.

At Chou hour he rose for his shift. Shao Ming had the flasks lined up neatly at the side. ”Awake?”

”Awake.”

Xu Yan sat at the passage mouth. Not a sliver of light in the fissure — so dark that open eyes and shut eyes were the same. He laid out the forks of the past two days in his mind, one by one.

The first thing he reckoned wasnʼt the paths, but what remained: how many packets of flatbread, water for two more days, the gate-sealing day drawing closer by one each day. These sums sat where they sat; no one could move them.

Then he reckoned the paths. His own marks were easiest to read: all at chest height, one line for each turn, a horizontal stroke across when a way dead-ended. Once marked, a path was struck from the count. He remembered which wall each mark was on, and which wall had no mark at all.

He stopped when he reached the footprints.

The branches they had tested all showed prints going both ways: inward-facing prints going in, outward-facing coming out, layer over layer, some spots worn glossy by the passing. People went in, people came out — accounts settled. Once he had crouched to look at the end of a dead branch; the small patch of dirt by the rock pile had been trampled flat by the back-and-forth, not a single print pointing only inward.

The untested branches, heʼd only glanced at from their mouths. Among them, the one near the far side — heʼd crouched there this evening, in the half-light, and the prints in the dirt were still visible. The soil in that branch was turned one way only: all facing in, none facing out.

Many going in. None coming back.

He turned this number over in his mind twice, then a third time. Dead-end paths had prints both ways because those who reached the end had to retrace their steps out. A branch with only inward prints meant people went in and didnʼt come out this end. Not dead inside — out through somewhere else. That branch connects.

At that thought, he set down one more figure: if that branch also dead-ended tomorrow, another day wasted, one day closer to the gate sealing. No one could save that day for him. He still decided to take that branch.

He reached out and felt along the wall, tracing the marks heʼd made during the day, counting them one by one, until his hand found the empty patch by the opening — not a single mark there. The half torch lay by his knee. Tomorrowʼs first mark would go there.

At late Yin hour, the thin line of light reappeared in the stone crack, crawling down from above. Qi Qi woke first, sat up, and wiped his face with a hand.

Xu Yan turned to him. ”Today, we follow the footprints that only go in.”