My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 159: Hasnʼt Moved

Inside the storeroom threshold sat a water flask, its mouth sealed tight, a flatbread resting on a clean piece of broken tile beside it.

That was what Cheng Banshan had left the night before: full, because the girl would want a drink first thing in the morning.

Bai Xiaoman slept until nearly noon before coming out. One side of her hair was pressed up at an angle, and the weave of the mat was still imprinted on her cheek. She sat down on the threshold, picked up the flask, and drank. Halfway through she stopped, shook it to gauge what was left, and set it back where it had been. She broke off half the flatbread and chewed it slowly.

”Slept half the day.” Qian Duoduo crouched down beside her.

”The hunger passed,” she said. ”Not hungry now.”

”The breadʼs gone hard.”

”Soak it.” She dropped the half-piece into the other flask, the one with water still in it, and watched it sink.

Cheng Banshan sat on the stone steps outside the storeroom, the oilcloth bundle resting on his knees, the straps half undone. He was changing the way it tied up: before, it went across twice, which dug into his shoulders on mountain paths. Today he was switching it to run diagonal over one shoulder with a second strap around the waist. He threaded one strip through the corner of the oilcloth with one hand while holding the other end in his teeth, pulled it tight, tested it, then undid it and threaded it again.

”If you canʼt get it switched, just use yesterdayʼs two straps.” Xu Yan stood below the steps.

”Iʼll get it switched,” Cheng Banshan said, spitting out the strap. ”Might as well while thereʼs a couple of idle days.”

”Change it on the road if you need to.”

”If I change it on the road, the pages will scatter.” He threaded the strap through again. ”Better before we set out.”

There wasnʼt much work in the courtyard that day. The pages were sorted, the ash swept clean, the storeroom stood empty, the five shallow grooves in the floor were empty too, and the five carved lines running from the groove edges toward the center—the easternmost one broke off beneath the fallen beam.

Shao Ming and Du Xiaochuan carried flasks down to the western cliff face and back, setting them in a row outside the storeroom, mouths up. Du Xiaochuan crouched and squeezed each one, pulling out the ones that had gone soft to refill them. Huo Qing stood by the east wall, sword still sheathed in his hand, thrusting it into the burned hole in the wall and pulling it back, the sheathʼs tip never touching the ground.

Qi Qi walked up to the stair mouth and back, then crouched at the threshold and said, ”The southern path is clear. No oneʼs come down.”

”Clear is good,” Xu Yan said.

”Clear,” Qi Qi said. ”Though at noon I heard something from the second level—very faint, like someone tapping stone.”

”A few of the Eight Sects have gone down.”

”Then itʼs more than one sect tapping.”

”More than one,” Xu Yan said. ”Donʼt go down to look.”

Shi Po sat on the flat stone at the collapsed section of the courtyard wall. The stone was covered with charcoal marks, one after another; that morning heʼd added one more. He ran a finger over the topmost mark, stood, and set the tile heʼd been holding back at the base of the wall.

Then he walked halfway around the tile circle, stopped three paces away, studied the ground, picked up a palm-sized flat stone, and set it down.

”Whatʼs that?” Qian Duoduo asked.

”A place to sit,” Shi Po said.

”You donʼt need to sit now.”

”Night.” Shi Po stamped the flat stone firm and went back to the wall.

Qian Duoduo untied the flatbread bundle by the storeroom door and turned the pieces over one by one, soft ones to one side, hard ones to the other.

”More hard ones every day,” Du Xiaochuan said.

”Just soak them,” Qian Duoduo said.

That afternoon Xu Yan went into the inner room and stood there for a while. The writing desk still had its collapsed corner; the legs were stone, and the ash near one stone foot had been raked by him, leaving a curled ridge. He didnʼt touch it. Coming out, he lifted the half tile hanging from the door frame and set it at the base of the wall.

”Little Xu.” Cheng Banshan called from behind.

Xu Yan turned.

”Whether the girl can sit a whole night—thatʼs not on me.” Cheng Banshan smoothed down the oilcloth corner. ”If she gets up on her own in the middle of the night, that whole nightʼs wasted.”

”She said she wonʼt get up.”

”Thatʼs what she said.” Cheng Banshan said. ”Sitting into the deep night, her legs will go numb, her waist will sag, her mind will wander. When the mind wanders, the qi scatters.”

”Let it scatter?”

”Scatter, then sit again.” Cheng Banshan pulled the strap tight. ”A minor bottleneck can be ground through. Grind it too hard, and the foundation from the first layer to the second turns rough. She found her own path; she has to walk it herself.”

The daylight faded. The collapsed eastern half went dark first.

Du Xiaochuan fished the fire starter from his waist and held it out to Xu Yan. ”Want to light one?”

”No,” Xu Yan said.

”Itʼs getting black as pitch.”

”Sheʼs sitting the night through. If a flame flickers, her mind will flicker with it.” Xu Yan pushed the fire starter back. ”Put it away.”

At lamp-lighting time, Bai Xiaoman tucked her skirt beneath her knees and walked to the center slab, sitting down. The earthen groove lay less than half a foot before her knees, empty, its rim worn smooth and faintly gleaming. She sat up straight, hands on her knees, and looked over the five grooves from left to right, then straightened her head.

”Iʼm sitting,” she said.

”Sit,” Xu Yan answered from the threshold.

”I wonʼt get up tonight,” she said. ”Not until dawn. If I collapse—”

”Not allowed to collapse.” Jiang Wan stood at the storeroom door.

”Just in case.”

”There is no in case,” Jiang Wan said. ”Sit.”

”When do we go down to the second level?” Bai Xiaoman asked Xu Yan.

”After you finish sitting,” Xu Yan said.

”What if I canʼt get up?”

”Then we wait until you can.”

”The Eight Sects have people down there.”

”The Eight Sectsʼ business isnʼt tonightʼs.” Xu Yan said. ”Finish tonight first.”

”Senior Sister.” Bai Xiaoman looked up at Jiang Wan. ”The night you broke through—how long did you sit?”

”One night,” Jiang Wan said.

”Were you hungry?”

”Hungry.” Jiang Wan said. ”Didnʼt eat. Not until daylight.”

Bai Xiaoman glanced back at the soaked flatbread beside her knee.

Cheng Banshan came out carrying the freshly tied oilcloth bundle, set it by the storeroom door, walked to the edge of the tile circle, and held out his hand. ”Hand.”

She extended her arm. Three fingers settled on her wrist, this time longer than yesterday.

”Qiʼs even.” He withdrew his hand. ”Sit without thoughts. Brooding drains the spirit worst of all.”

”Not thinking is hard.”

”Think of one thing. Think of those five lines.” Cheng Banshan said. ”If you think of anything else, tell me tomorrow.”

He picked up the bundle and went into the storeroom.

Qian Duoduo came over carrying a bowl with half a flatbread soaking in it, a full water flask in his other hand.

”Soaked soft,” he said. ”Easier to bite when you wake in the night.”

”Set it by my knee.”

”Setting it down.” He placed the bowl and flask on the slab, and on his way out straightened two crooked tile shards at the edge of the circle.

”Qian Duoduo.”

”Hm?”

”That soft one tomorrow—eat it yourself.”

”There are two soft ones left.” Qian Duoduo said. ”Enough.”

”Eat one.”

”Iʼll eat it,” he said. ”Tomorrow.”

The thrust-and-withdraw rhythm at the east wall stopped. Huo Qing carried his sword to the base of the wall, set it upright, walked over and stood at the threshold, said nothing, and turned into the storeroom. Xu Yan watched him go, but didnʼt call him back.

At the You hour, Shao Ming came out from the inner room and sat on the outer threshold, back against the door frame, both legs stretched out.

”Iʼm here,” he said. ”If you need anything, call.”

”Mm,” Bai Xiaoman said.

The courtyard was quiet. Light came down from above, falling across the five grooves, a thin layer of dust at the bottom of each.

After a while, Shao Ming said, ”Sitting nights—thatʼs something I know.”

”Uncle Shao sat for twenty years.”

”In twenty years, Iʼve sat more nights than anyone.” Shao Ming said. ”The first few years, sitting there, my heart would start burning—thinking this time it would work.”

”Did it?”

”No.” Shao Ming said. ”Ten times. Not once.”

Bai Xiaoman said nothing.

”Later I changed.” Shao Ming said. ”I stopped thinking about success or failure. Qi goes where it goes; I went with it, and when it finished, it was finished.”

”The qi finishes its path.”

”The qi finishes its path.” He leaned back against the door frame. ”You walk yours. I wonʼt watch you.”

He didnʼt turn around again. Inside the tile circle, the breathing came one breath at a time—long, short, long.

At the storeroom door, Shi Po moved two bundles to the base of the wall and sat on the flat stone heʼd tamped down earlier. Qian Duoduo asked before going in, ”Not sleeping?”

”Sleeping,” Shi Po said. And stayed sitting.

At the Hai hour, Jiang Wan came out of the storeroom.

”Go back,” she said to Shi Po.

Shi Po didnʼt move. ”Still early.”

”Itʼs Hai hour.” Jiang Wan said. ”Go sleep. Thereʼs work tomorrow.”

Shi Po looked toward the tile circle. Bai Xiaomanʼs back was straight, shoulders square, head not drooping.

”The moment she moves, I wake,” he said.

”You sleep. Iʼll keep watch.”

Shi Po stood, stomped one foot in place, then walked to the storeroom. At the door he looked back at the spot three paces away, then went in.

Shao Ming stood and yielded the threshold. To Jiang Wan he said, ”Hasnʼt moved.”

”Mm.”

”Call me if it gets cold. Iʼll take half your shift.”

”One person per shift,” Jiang Wan said.

Shao Ming went into the storeroom.

Jiang Wan sat on the threshold, sword across her knees, the sheathʼs tip toward the courtyard gate. Her back was to the tile circle; she didnʼt turn.

Wind came down through the collapsed opening, slid along the ground, and broke apart at the edge of the circle. After sitting a while, she shifted half a foot east, so the wind passed around her.

She sat listening. Beyond the courtyard gate it was dark; the flat stone at the collapse was invisible. Only when the wind came did the tiles at the wall base whisper. She adjusted the sword on her knees, set her hands back on her knees, and didnʼt move again.

The breathing inside stayed steady. At the end of the Hai hour, it suddenly broke.

Jiang Wanʼs shoulders tensed. One hand pressed down on the sword across her knees.

That breath took a long while to resume, and when it did, it was deeper than before. Her hand lifted off the sheath and returned to her knee. Only when the breathing behind her evened out again, one breath after another, did she let her shoulders drop a fraction.

At the end of the Zi hour, Xu Yan came out of the storeroom. Jiang Wan stood, sword in hand.

”Hasnʼt moved,” she said.

”Go sleep,” Xu Yan said.

Jiang Wan took two steps toward the storeroom, switched the sword to her other hand, and went in.

Xu Yan sat on the threshold. The stone slab was still warm—Jiang Wan had sat there two shichen, and the wind had never reached this spot.

He shifted half a foot east, back against the door frame.

Inside the tile circle, Bai Xiaomanʼs breathing went long, then short, then long again. He counted along: one, two, three—lost count somewhere in the thirties, started over.

It was very dark inside. The five grooves were invisible. Only a straight-backed silhouette sat on the center slab, shoulders not drooping in the slightest.

At the Chou hour, the breath went out long, came back, went out long again—and gradually, in and out, the lengths evened out.