My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 171: The Shoulder Didnʼt Move

”Your hand.”

Cheng Banshan tucked his empty sleeve behind his back, extended his other hand, three fingers spread.

Huo Qing offered his left wrist. Cheng Banshan pressed for a while, shifted down, pressed again, only looking up when he reached the elbow. ”No injury. Numb wrist—itʼll pass by tonight.” He turned the left hand over and examined the web between thumb and forefinger. ”The callus has gone white in one spot, but itʼs not broken. Donʼt rub it yourself—the more you rub, the worse it gets. Tomorrow you wonʼt be able to grip a sword.”

”Still going at that stone tomorrow?” Cheng Banshan asked.

Huo Qing said, ”Mm.”

”When youʼre done, soak it in the pool water. Cold is fine. No medicine.”

Cheng Banshan finished speaking, wiped his hand on his knee, and let his gaze fall briefly on Huo Qingʼs right arm hanging at his side. He didnʼt reach for it, and he didnʼt ask.

Shi Po stood with both hands clasped in front of him, waiting for Cheng Banshan to finish before speaking. ”It was close.”

Huo Qing laid his sword across his knees, not responding. Shi Po waited a while, got no answer, released his clasped hands, and wiped them on his trouser legs.

A few shards of stone, knocked loose by the sword, still lay scattered across the stone plaza. The daylight caught them, harsh and white. Xu Yan stood outside the door. He walked over, picked up the one nearest Huo Qingʼs feet, set it at the plazaʼs edge, and withdrew back through the door without asking a single question.

Shi Po spoke again: ”I couldnʼt keep count of how many strikes he held back. After a while, I lost track.”

Xu Yan said, ”Nineteen.”

Shi Po filed the number away and crouched back down to examine Huo Qingʼs knee. Qi Qi, beside him, spread his hands: ”Iʼm not counting.”

The Heavenly Sword Sectʼs people over on the far side were shouldering their swords one by one, some tying straps. No one looked this way. The stone plaza bore a trail of footprints running from the center all the way to the poolʼs edge—trampled out during the Horse hour. One man came back from the pool carrying a water flask, angled wide around the Qingya side, unhurried.

Huo Qing rotated his wrist once and let his arm fall back to his side.

Inside the stone chamber, Jiang Wan rose from the rock sheʼd sat on all through the Horse hour, bracing her right hand against the doorframe first. Bai Xiaoman reached to support her, one hand still clutching a corner of Jiang Wanʼs clothing. Jiang Wan glanced at her: ”Let go.” Bai Xiaoman released her grip, then smoothed out the wrinkled fabric with two passes of her hand.

Jiang Wan walked in two steps on her own and sat back down against the stone wall. Her sword leaned against the wall beside her, sheath mouth facing outward, unmoved since the Horse hour.

Bai Xiaoman followed her in and crouched at her feet, pressing one hand on her own knee. She looked up at Jiang Wan once, her mouth moved, then she lowered her head and wiped her hand on her jacket front.

Xu Yan passed Huo Qing on his way in and said, ”The water flaskʼs inside the door.”

”Mm.”

Du Xiaochuan fished the fire starter out of his inner pocket, looked at it, put it back, and kicked the loose stones blocking the chamberʼs entrance over to the wall.

By the Monkey hour, the light had thinned. The heat over the stone plaza retreated layer by layer, and the Heavenly Sword Sectʼs doors were all shut. Huo Qing sat, sword across his knees, unmoving. From the doorway, Xu Yan replayed the Horse-hour bout in his mind: nineteen strikes—it took until the fifteenth for him to advance half a step. No injuries, no judge, no one owed anyone anything.

At the Dog hour, Qian Duoduo untied his bundle and spread it on a flat stone. He counted the coarse grain cakes—one for each. The softest one he held out to Jiang Wan separately; she took it, broke off half, and pressed it into Bai Xiaomanʼs hand. Bai Xiaoman looked at Qian Duoduo. Qian Duoduo said, ”Thereʼs more.”

Bai Xiaoman took two bites, glanced up at Huo Qing, then at Xu Yan. Her mouth opened, and she switched the cake to her other hand, silent.

Qian Duoduo saw it and said nothing, just folded the mouth of the bundle inward. The stone chamber held only the sound of chewing. No one mentioned the Horse-hour bout.

Huo Qing finished his share, shook the crumbs from his fingers, stood, and went out to sit on a rock by the pool.

Qian Duoduo scooped a bowl of pool water and carried it out, setting it at Huo Qingʼs feet. When he came back, he said, ”He didnʼt drink it.”

The bowl just sat there. The light slowly dimmed, and the water in the bowl—bright at first—took on the same color as the poolʼs surface until you couldnʼt tell how full it was. Huo Qing sat with his back to the stone chamber, shoulders level, sword across his knees. Not once did he look down at his feet.

No one inside the chamber was in a hurry to lie down. Jiang Wan leaned against the doorframe, watching the figure by the pool for a long while. When the silhouette shifted, stood, and started walking back, she turned and went inside.

The light withdrew from the stone plaza, then from the poolʼs surface. When the last of it was gone from the water, Huo Qing came back to the doorway.

The Chou-Yin shift that night was Xu Yanʼs, seated at the chamberʼs entrance. Twice someone turned over inside—both times from Huo Qingʼs side. Shi Poʼs breathing was heavy, steady beat after steady beat. From Qian Duoduoʼs direction came a faint grinding of teeth. Xu Yan stayed seated, didnʼt go in. The pool water sounded in the dark, soft and rhythmic, unhurried.

Day 29. First light had barely touched the stone plaza when Huo Qing was already standing before that white-scoured rock. A layer of pale mist floated over the pool; the rock was cool to the touch. The white patch on its face—that was what his strikes had worn, day after day.

His left hand rose to his hip. The sword went out along his body, one thrust, then back. He thrust twenty-some times, paused, shifted the sword in his grip, thrust again. On each start, the left shoulder barely moved—the sword traveled from the waist.

After one full round, he stood still, sank the left shoulder slightly, and thrust again. With each thrust, the toes of his front foot gripped the stone surface; his heel never came down.

Cheng Banshan emerged from the stone chamber and stood watching for a while. ”A few more days and heʼll punch straight through that rock.” He tucked in his empty sleeve. ”This medicine box of mine has a little of everything in it. Nothing for stubbornness, though.”

Qi Qi muttered something behind him. Cheng Banshan said, ”Youʼre no better.”

A stone chamber across the plaza opened. Someone came out hugging a cloth-wrapped bundle, set it at the plazaʼs edge; a while later, someone else carried out another. The pile had grown some by noon. No one stood guard. No one went over to look. Xu Yan counted from across the plaza—learned nothing useful—and pulled his gaze back.

The door to Wei Changgeʼs chamber stayed shut. No one had seen him all day.

At the Dragon hour, Qian Duoduo distributed the cakes. Huo Qing took his, ate it standing at the plazaʼs edge, brushed the crumbs from his fingers onto the back of his hand, and went back to training. Qian Duoduo called after him, ”Plenty of cakes left.” Huo Qing didnʼt turn.

Shi Po crouched twenty feet away, counting. He got to thirty-something, started over from the beginning. Qi Qi squatted beside him. This time he didnʼt try to stop him—just laid out pebbles on a flat stone, arranging a stretch, thinking a stretch.

”If I stood there without moving,” Shi Po said, ”one thrust of his would still take three strikes on me.”

Qi Qi said, ”First, get your counting straight.”

”What are they looking for?” Shi Po asked.

Xu Yan said, ”I donʼt know.”

Shi Po made an ”oh” sound and went back to counting.

On the open ground by the chamber entrance, Bai Xiaoman placed five pebbles the way Jiang Wan had taught her. When she looked up, she saw Jiang Wan leaning against the doorframe, nodding at her once. She picked the five pebbles up one by one, wrapped them back in their cloth and tied it, then fished half a cake from her inner pocket, wrapped it in a separate cloth, carried it to the plaza edge, and set it beside the water flask. She stepped back two paces, looked it over, then walked away.

Inside, Cheng Banshan emptied two types of medicine from his pouch onto a flat stone and separated them bit by bit with one hand, dividing them into small piles—each pile a dayʼs dose. When heʼd finished, he tied the pouchʼs drawstring and tucked the other end into his belt. He took a pill from his medicine box and walked over to Jiang Wan. She accepted it and swallowed it down with pool water from the wooden bowl.

”This box lasts to monthʼs end,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Iʼll make up what comes after.”

Jiang Wan set the bowl down and looked toward the stone plaza.

At the Snake hour, Jiang Wan came out of the stone chamber. Without her sword—it still leaned against the stone wall. She used the doorframe to descend the two stone steps, then walked to the plazaʼs edge and stopped.

She raised her right hand slightly—just past shoulder height—then let it fall.

And then she watched. Watched him start, draw back; start, draw back.

She wasnʼt watching the sword tip. She was watching that left shoulder. In the past, when sheʼd watched him practice this thrust, that shoulder had always gone forward half an inch before the sword followed. Now the shoulder stayed put; the sword went out from the waist, only returning at full extension. Her right hand, hanging at her side, twitched once in time with his starting motion. Then stilled.

”The shoulder didnʼt move.”

Huo Qing didnʼt answer, didnʼt stop.

Jiang Wan stood a while longer, then turned and went back. This time she didnʼt touch the doorframe. At the entrance, she glanced at her own sword leaning against the wall. Her hand went halfway out, came back, and she sat down.

Shao Ming sat on the threshold, also watching Huo Qingʼs shoulder. Jiang Wan passed in front of him and he nodded once. She didnʼt pause—went straight in. Only after sheʼd gone did Shao Ming say to Xu Yan, ”In the Twelfth Month, when I watched him start a thrust, the shoulder still led the move. It doesnʼt anymore.”

Xu Yan nodded. Shao Ming said no more, his gaze still on the plaza, fingers tapping his knee in a slow rhythm—as if counting for Huo Qing.

At the Horse hour the light was at its brightest. The plaza stones burned through the soles of your shoes. Xu Yan carried the water flask to the rock at the plazaʼs edge, set it down, and withdrew into the doorway.

In the Wei hour, Huo Qing took a drink. He noticed the cloth bundle beside him, picked it up and ate it, folded the cloth back the way it had been, and tucked it under the rock. From the last swallow to the next sword lift—less than the time it took to eat a meal.

Du Xiaochuan carried the bowls to the pool one by one, washed them, spread them on a rock to dry; when dry, he packed them back into the bundle, counting each one as it went.

At the Monkey hour, the last of the Heavenly Sword Sectʼs people went inside and shut the door. Only the scuff of shoe soles on stone remained on the plaza, and the slip of wind following each sword thrust. A young disciple came over hugging a rolled-up bundle, paused at the plazaʼs edge, watched a moment, then left. Huo Qing didnʼt stop.

Shi Po refilled the water flask at the pool and set it back on the rock. He stood beside Xu Yan and said, ”He hasnʼt rested all day.”

Xu Yan said, ”Mm.”

The light receded to the far end of the plaza, then onto the water. Huo Qing sheathed his sword and stood before the rock, wiping the blade on his sleeve—from the worn-white ring around the sheath mouth up to the hilt—then slid it into the wooden scabbard. Sheathed, he crouched by the pool, dipped his left hand in the water, pressed it to the web of his thumb, then came back.

At the Dog hour, cakes were passed around in the chamber. Qian Duoduo glanced over todayʼs portions, still set the soft one aside. Jiang Wan waved it away, so he placed it at her hand.

One by one, the people in the chamber settled down: Shi Po lay flat with both hands pillowed under his head; Du Xiaochuan leaned against the wall; Qian Duoduo tied his bundle and placed it by his head; Cheng Banshan lay with his empty sleeve tucked beneath him.

It was Huo Qingʼs turn to stand the You-Xu shift. He didnʼt go inside—sat by the pool outside the chamber, sword across his knees.

Xu Yan stood in the doorway a moment, then said, ”Chou-Yinʼs mine.”

”Mm.”

One by one, the breathing inside the chamber slowed. A last trace of light still hung over the pool, catching the sheath mouth of the sword across his knees. That worn-white ring glowed faintly in the dark.