My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 161: Twelve Stalks

At the Mao hour, Cheng Banshan carried the oilcloth bundle up the stone steps, undid the slipknot, and tied it again.

He tucked his empty sleeve behind his waist, freeing one hand, folded the four corners of the cloth over and pressed them tight, slung the cloth strap diagonally across his shoulder, ran another strip around his waist, and finished with a slipknot under his ribs. With the bundle still resting on the steps, he hefted it onto his back and walked into the courtyard, took two steps, turned, and walked back.

”Itʼs heavy enough,” he said.

Shi Po reached out a hand. ”Iʼll carry it.”

”I carry my own things.” Cheng Banshan tightened the slipknot another half-turn. ”Thatʼs what we settled yesterday.”

Shi Po didnʼt press it. He crouched by the flat stone at the collapsed section of the courtyard wall, felt under the wallʼs base, and took out the charred wooden strip. He added one more mark on top of the scorched surface, neat and straight, then put the strip back where it belonged and smoothed the new mark flat with his palm.

”When I get back, Iʼll keep scoring from here,” he said.

By the stone trough on the west side, Shao Ming and Du Xiaochuan were filling water skins one by one. Full ones went to Qian Duoduo, who gave each a pat, then a pat as he set it into the corner of the bundle. When he had enough, he folded the bundle cloth up and tied it, then untied it, felt around, and retied it.

Bai Xiaoman wrapped the four formation banners and five pebbles in cloth and tucked them into her bodice. She pressed them twice, then walked over to the east wall for a look. Huo Qing already had his sword slung on and stood waiting outside the gate opening. Qi Qi crouched by the mouth of the stairway, watching the cave mouth, one hand tapping on his knee.

Xu Yan went into the inner room last. He pushed the door open and looked: the writing desk still stood where it always had, the patch of ash beneath its legs lying flat and undisturbed. He didnʼt disturb it either. He came back out, pulled the door shut, then stood at the collapsed wall and looked back at the blackened roof frames of the burned rooms. He looked for a while, then said, ”Letʼs move.”

Ten people left the courtyard. It was the beginning of the Si hour.

East of the stair mouth, another opening cut into the rock face. The stairs inside were half as wide as the ones above, one step pressing down on the next as they descended. For the first stretch there was still daylight; both walls were dry, loose stones underfoot that clicked when stepped on. After two turns, the light died. Du Xiaochuan pulled a torch from his bundle, lit it, and held it up front.

The flame wavered, and the shadows on the rock walls wavered with it. Jiang Wan walked at the very front, sword in hand, feet placed steady. Bai Xiaoman followed three paces behind her, both hands gripping the hem of her skirt. Qi Qi walked to Jiang Wanʼs left, pointing out the way, saying heʼd stood at the top of the stair mouth and looked at this stretch last time—dry yes, just a lot of loose stone, noisy underfoot. Shi Po carried two bundles in the middle; with every step, the packs thumped against his back. Cheng Banshan walked ahead of him, one shoulder high, one low. Xu Yan brought up the rear.

Bai Xiaoman counted the steps. Somewhere along the way she lost count and stopped counting.

Halfway down, Xu Yan called a rest. The ten of them sat on the steps, and a row of water skins passed down the line, each person taking two swallows. Cheng Banshan took his bundle off and held it in his arms, not setting it on the ground. Shao Ming asked if it was heavy.

”Writing a character on it would weigh less,” Cheng Banshan said.

Qian Duoduo fished a flatbread from inside his robe and pressed it toward Bai Xiaoman. She shook her head. ”Eat when we get there.”

”Itʼs only chewable after soaking, and thereʼs no water for soaking on the road.”

”Thereʼll be water when we arrive.” Bai Xiaoman pushed the flatbread back. ”If I eat now, Iʼll still have to eat when we get there.”

Qian Duoduo had no choice but to tuck the flatbread back into his robe, muttering that heʼd carried it all this way—might as well have carried a rock.

Farther down, the steps widened and the walls stopped closing in. From some crack overhead, thin shafts of daylight fell through, landing on the steps in broken segments, one stretch lit, the next dark. At the start of the Wei hour, the last few steps dropped onto open ground.

The second level was a stone plaza.

It was larger than the courtyard before the Mountain Gate, paved entirely with flat stones, low grass growing through the cracks, green in patches. Along one side stood a row of stone chambers, all with old wooden doors—some closed, some hanging askew on their hinges, all dark inside. At one end of the plaza sat a pool of water, the surface gleaming white. The ceiling was high, no walls visible, only a wash of white light falling from above onto the surface of the pool and into the center of the plaza.

Qian Duoduo let out an ”Ah!” and ran forward, then after two steps looked back to see if anyone would stop him. Jiang Wan raised a hand. ”Hold. Watch your footing first.” So Qian Duoduo walked slowly the rest of the way, crouched at the waterʼs edge, and drank from cupped hands.

Cheng Banshan didnʼt go to the water. He stood looking at the plot by the waterʼs edge for a long while before setting his bundle down and walking over.

It was a plot of grass, two or three paces across, clump pressed against clump. The leaves were narrow, gray-green, each one hollowed slightly at the center, and the ring of soil around the roots was damp. Cheng Banshan crouched, one hand braced on his knee, and counted from the first stalk to the last, then settled back onto his heels.

”Twelve stalks,” he said. ”Dewdrop Grass.”

Bai Xiaoman came over to look. ”The leaves all curl inward.”

”They curl to gather qi.” Cheng Banshan said. ”At the Wu hour, a drop of dew condenses in the heart of each leaf. You harvest while the dew is still there, roots and all, and the medicinal power holds. Past the Wu hour, the dew dries.”

”And if itʼs dried?”

”Then itʼs a handful of ordinary grass,” he said. ”Broken roots donʼt count either.”

He raised his head toward the white light above and looked for a while. ”Todayʼs past. Tomorrow, at the Wu hour.”

Jiang Wan asked, ”Before the Wu hour tomorrow, canʼt we touch it?”

”Not a moment early,” Cheng Banshan said.

Xu Yan crouched at the edge of the plot. ”How do we lift them?”

”Take them up with the soil, donʼt pull.” Cheng Banshan traced a motion over the soil with one hand. ”Pulling breaks the roots.”

Du Xiaochuan asked from behind, ”Should we splash some water on first?”

”Splash water and youʼll have no dew,” Cheng Banshan said. ”It gathers qi through the whole night; pour a bowl of water over it and the nightʼs work goes to waste.”

”Then what do I do?”

”You stand by and hold the medicine pouch open,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Iʼve only got one hand. I lift a stalk, set it in, you receive it.”

Du Xiaochuan nodded, took the empty medicine pouch from his shoulder, and gave it a test hold with both hands.

Xu Yan asked again, ”What about the other grass around these?”

There were other plants scattered near the water, tall and short, of various kinds. Cheng Banshan reached out and parted one clump, pinched off half a leaf, rolled it between his fingers, sniffed it, and tossed it away. ”Not worth much. Three coppers a handful at the medicine shop.”

He righted the plant heʼd pushed aside, stood up, and wiped his hand on his trousers.

Qi Qi circled the stone plaza and came back, saying there were footprints at the far end too—some heading toward the rock wall, fewer coming back; more going up. Looked like people from other sects had passed through here.

Xu Yan looked where he pointed. At the far end of the plaza stood several more stone chambers, lower than the ones on this side, built right against the rock face.

”Tomorrow at the Chen hour, Iʼll take Elder Cheng, Uncle Shao, and Huo Qing to that end to see if there are any old objects bearing Qingya marks,” Xu Yan said. ”Rule Five: anything bearing a sectʼs name or mark belongs to that sect.”

”Good,” Shao Ming said.

Huo Qing nodded.

”The waterʼs edge goes to Senior Sister.”

”Iʼll hold the waterʼs edge,” Jiang Wan said. ”Until the Chen hour tomorrow, no gap at this plot.”

At the Shen hour, the ten of them settled into the stone chamber nearest the pool. It was the closest to water, its door facing the plaza, dry inside, with a layer of fine sand on the floor that gave a fingerʼs depth underfoot. Bundles all came off inside; Shi Po lined up two packs side by side against the far wall.

Qian Duoduo carried a bowl to the pool, scooped water, and brought it back, offering it to Cheng Banshan first. Cheng Banshan took it, smelled, then sipped, held it in his mouth, and swallowed after a moment.

”Drinkable,” he said.

”Cold?” Qian Duoduo asked.

”Cold,” Cheng Banshan passed the bowl back. ”Colder than the trough on the first level.”

Qian Duoduo responded with a string of ”Good, good, good,” untied the flatbread bundle, and broke the cakes into pieces to soak in his bowl. The bread had been baked in the early days of the Fifth Month and was hard enough to knock against and hear it ring; only after soaking would it yield to the teeth. Shi Po raised his bowl to dump it into his mouth, and Qian Duoduo slapped him on the back of the hand. ”Let it soak through.”

Shi Po set the bowl down and waited obediently.

Bai Xiaoman, bread soaking, asked, ”Elder Cheng, is the dew water?”

”Not water,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Itʼs the qi the grass gathers over the night, condensed in the heart of the leaf. Harvest while itʼs there and the qi stays in the roots. Once it dries, the qi is gone, the grass is still alive, but the medicine is gone.”

”Then how does it know when the Wu hour has come?”

The flatbread in Cheng Banshanʼs hand stopped halfway to his mouth. He thought for a moment. ”Thatʼs beyond me. I only know it condenses at the Wu hour and dries after. Ask the grass.”

Bai Xiaoman flipped her flatbread over and asked no more.

The white light overhead slowly dimmed, retreating first up the rock walls, then to mid-air, and finally only a thin layer of it remained on the surface of the pool. The stones of the plaza turned gray one by one.

The night watch stayed three shifts, as always. Xu Yan said, ”The You-Xu and Hai-Zi shifts: sort yourselves out. Say so once itʼs settled. Iʼll take Chou-Yin.” The two shifts were claimed quickly; each knew who was assigned where, and no one argued.

When the lamps were being lit, Jiang Wan stood up, walked to the waterʼs edge, and stood looking toward the far end of the plaza. Shi Po also stood, took half a step forward ahead of Bai Xiaoman, and stopped there. Huo Qing lifted his sword from his knees but didnʼt draw it.

There were figures on the other side of the pool.

Three. They came from the far end of the plaza, unhurried, and stopped on the opposite bank, across the water. The one in the middle was the tallest, broad-shouldered, standing perfectly still once heʼd taken his position. The other two flanked him half a pace behind, equally motionless. The daylight had diminished to a thin white sheet over the pool, enough to show three silhouettes but not their faces.

The one in the middle looked at the plot of grass by the water. His head was bent low, turning slowly from left to right, then back again, studying clump by clump, taking his time.

Qi Qi moved close to Xu Yan, his voice pressed down in his throat. ”Wanshou Mountain. The middle oneʼs called Xiong Dai. When the clerk read names on registration day, his response was the loudest in the hall. I remember.”

The three didnʼt come over. After standing for a while, the middle one turned and led the other two back toward the far end of the plaza, walking slowly, one measured step after another.

Qian Duoduo crouched at the chamber doorway, bowl in his arms, not daring to make a sound until the three figures had gone far. ”What were they looking at the grass for?”

”They saw it,” Shao Ming said.

”Grass grows by water; anyone passing sees it,” Cheng Banshan said.

Jiang Wan came back from the waterʼs edge and leaned her sword against the rock wall. ”Tomorrow Iʼll be at the waterʼs edge.”

”Tomorrow at the Chen hour Iʼll take three people to the far end,” Xu Yan said. ”At the water Iʼm leaving Senior Sister, Bai Xiaoman, Shi Po, Qi Qi, and Du Xiaochuan. Qian Duoduo stays in the chamber watching the gear. Anyone who comes back reports to him first.”

”Iʼll be right in this doorway,” Qian Duoduo said.

”Back by the Wu hour,” Xu Yan said. ”Then harvest the grass, then back to the chamber to rest.”

No one asked further. A row of people lay down inside the chamber, coarse cloth scraping against sand, a few sounds, then quiet.

At the Chou hour, Xu Yan took over the Chou-Yin shift, sitting on the threshold of the stone chamber. The plaza was all gray, the pool one point of light. No wind; the surface lay still as a thing set there. He went over the next dayʼs plan from start to finish: bring the group to the far end at the Chen hour, check the stone chambers one by one, bring back anything bearing the mark; return to the water at the Wu hour, harvest when the dew had condensed, then rest back in the chamber.

Someone in the chamber turned over, clothing rustling once.

He sat without moving.

When the sky was nearly light, a sound came from the far end of the plaza.

Once, then again. Not fast, not heavy—like someone grinding one stone against another. A grind, a pause, another grind. The sound traveled from the rock wall, carrying far across the open plaza.

Xu Yan sat on the threshold and listened to the end of it without rising. The sound stopped, and from that end of the plaza there was no further movement.