My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 174: After Tonight

At the Snake hour, Qi Qi came back from the stone terrace, walking fast, only reining in his steps at the mouth of the stone chamber.

”Done searching.” He first wiped the back of his hand across his lapel. ”Heavenly Sword Sect went through those stone chambers one by one, even reached into the cracks in the walls.”

Xu Yan looked up from where he sat on the flat stone outside the door.

”They turned up a few rust-broken chunks of iron.” Qi Qi said, ”About this long.” He measured from forearm to fingertip. ”Stuck together in a clump, shedding flakes at a tap. Not a single intact sword.”

”Swords and all they carry, and still they search.” Shi Po said from the doorframe.

”Carrying swords and still searching—that means theyʼre looking for something.” Qi Qi said. ”Back when they first stationed in Luoxia, one of their disciples said it outside the inn: what Heavenly Sword Sect wants is old swords.”

”The three inner chambers?”

”The three inner chambers, plus two half-collapsed ones on the east end—those too.” Qi Qi said. ”Wei Changge never came out. His door hasnʼt opened once in the daytime these past two days. A young disciple sits outside it; when he saw me, he lowered his head.”

”The iron?”

”Left on the stone by the entrance, half-wrapped in cloth.” Qi Qi said. ”Couldnʼt tell if they mean to take it or just set it down because itʼs heavy.”

Shi Po crouched down and flicked the crumbs of his half-finished flatbread away. ”Sit for three hundred years, even iron rots.”

”What doesnʼt rot is in places no oneʼs found.” Shao Ming sat on the threshold. ”Ironʼs fine in dry spots, but this kind of place gets cold at night, the moisture seeps back—rots faster than out in the open.”

Xu Yan nodded.

”Stay away from that end.”

”I know.” Qi Qi said. ”I came back around the pool.”

Shao Ming asked one more thing: ”They find anything?”

”A few rusted chunks of iron.” Qi Qi said.

Shao Ming grunted and asked no more.

Xu Yan turned the chunks of iron over in his mind: rusted like that, no price to be had, didnʼt look like anyoneʼs property; even if there were a sect mark on them, by Rule Five it would belong to that sect. Heavenly Sword Sect knew that too—no matter how fine the search, it was just for show. What Xu Yan was counting was something else. Only a few days left before the gate was sealed. All ten of them, not one missing. Flatbread still enough. Today was Jiang Wanʼs last day. The matter on the stone terrace on the twenty-eighth—from that day to now, not one person in the stone chamber had mentioned it. And no one had mentioned Wei Changgeʼs name. He did not ask.

At the Horse hour, Qian Duoduo pulled his bundle out from the wall corner and spread it on the stone floor in the middle of the chamber.

”One each, two meals a day.” He muttered as he counted, one finger tapping along. ”One, two, three...”

Counting to the end, he pushed the counted ones into a small pile to the east, then started again from the west. The second count was slower than the first; halfway through, he paused, lips moving, running the earlier numbers through his mouth once more before continuing. Bai Xiaoman crouched beside him, her eyes following his finger up and down.

”Enough to last until we get out.” He said.

Xu Yan nodded. Qian Duoduo nodded too, as if the words were meant for himself, and wiped his fingers on his lapel.

Bai Xiaoman reached over. He swatted her hand away lightly. ”Donʼt touch. You move one and I lose count.”

”Iʼll help you count. Two people count faster.”

”You count yours, Iʼll count mine.”

The flatbread had been pressed down for almost a month, all of it hardened. It had to be soaked in pool water before you could bite through it. Qian Duoduo broke open the top piece, inspected the inside, pinched off a soft bit to soak in a bowl, and carried it over to Jiang Wan. She took it without demur, set the bowl on her knees, and ate slowly. Qian Duoduo watched her take two bites before going back to pack the bundle.

”Soaked and eaten every day.” Bai Xiaoman took a bite, cheeks bulging. ”The day we get out, I want to eat it hot.”

Qian Duoduo stacked the flatbread back into the bundle by size, pressed it layer by layer, folded the corners under, and said, ”The day we get out, Iʼll bake a pot. Thick with spirit rice. First potʼs not for sale—we eat first.”

”Iʼll remember that.”

”You remember, Iʼll remember.” Qian Duoduo said. ”I counted twice. No oneʼs backing out.”

”Whoʼs backing out.” Bai Xiaoman said. Qian Duoduo ignored her, hefted the bundle, set it back in the corner, and nudged it inward with his foot.

Bai Xiaoman laughed, broke her piece in half, stuffed one half into her mouth, and wrapped the other half at her waist.

At the Monkey hour, the daylight slid across the poolʼs surface, lighting up a bright strip.

Huo Qing stood before the flat stone at the poolʼs edge—thrust, withdraw. Today he had not trained on the stone terrace; he stood at the poolʼs end. Xu Yan saw it and did not ask.

Shi Po crouched three paces away, both hands on his knees, eyes following the thrust. Bai Xiaoman sat at the waterʼs edge, four pebbles laid out before her feet, a fifth clutched in her hand. She sent it forward—it landed, half an inch off. She picked it up, set it again. Du Xiaochuan filled water flasks one by one, arranging them in a row on the stones.

”Senior Brother Huo.” Bai Xiaoman spoke up. ”That thrust of yours—how many a day?”

”Never counted.”

”Eight hundred.” Shi Po said.

Bai Xiaoman turned. ”How do you count them?”

”One at a time.” Shi Po said. ”By now today, eight hundred sixty-two.”

”Counting past eight hundred—you donʼt lose track?”

”I donʼt.”

Huo Qing thrust again. Bai Xiaoman stared at his hand; suddenly she said, ”Senior Brother Huo, when you withdraw, your hand hooks back a little.”

Huo Qing stopped and looked down at his own hand, then slowly withdrew once, too straight. He saw it too. He pressed his shoulder down.

Jiang Wan sat at the chamber doorway, her sword still against the stone wall inside, hands resting on her knees. She watched for a long while before speaking: ”One or two in ten come out like that. The rest hook back again.”

Huo Qing grunted. He did not turn around. The next thrust, the withdrawal came a fraction slower, wrist held rigid, refusing to let it hook.

Shao Ming, sitting on the threshold, watched where he started his stroke. ”Left-handed sword, the right half of the body carries no power. On the start you can only push up with the waist. Waist pushes up, and on the withdrawal the hand hooks back easy.”

Huo Qing nodded and thrust once more. This one withdrew straight. The start was the same as ever, left shoulder barely moving.

A small patch of stone had been worn white. Shi Po reached out and touched it. ”This stoneʼs softer than the one on the terrace.”

”Soft is good.” Du Xiaochuan said at the side. ”Soft makes you count slower.”

Shi Po thought about it. ”True.”

Huo Qing thrust a dozen more times, then suddenly stopped and turned his head. ”Bai Xiaoman.”

She looked up.

”The fifth pebble—let go first.”

She looked down at her hand clutching the pebble; all five fingers were rigid. She loosened her grip, then sent the stone forward—it landed among the four, a hairʼs breadth from where she wanted it. She looked up to speak, but Huo Qing had already turned back to his thrusting.

She pressed her lips together, gathered the five pebbles back into her hand, and set them again.

Du Xiaochuan sat beside Shi Po, watching Huo Qingʼs hand for a while, then glanced toward the stone terrace. Over there, the search was done, doors all shut, no one out. He drew his eyes back, picked up a small stone by his foot, turned it over in his hand. Turned it for a long time and never threw it.

No one spoke at the poolʼs edge anymore. When the wind came from the terrace, the water rippled fine; when the wind passed, it smoothed. No one mentioned the twenty-eighth. No one asked what they were searching for over at the terrace. Huo Qing didnʼt say, Xu Yan didnʼt ask.

Huo Qing trained until the light turned over on itself, the color shifting from white to yellow. When he put the sword away, he wiped it crosswise, crouched by the pool, and soaked his left hand in the water, pressing it against the web of his thumb.

At the Rooster hour, Cheng Banshan came out of the stone chamber, walked over to Jiang Wan, and crouched down. The empty sleeve was tucked behind his back. He had only one hand.

”Your hand.”

Jiang Wan extended her left hand. Three fingers pressed onto her wrist, held for a while, then shifted to the right side, pressing through her clothes at the spot below her right ribs—slower this time than before. Jiang Wan did not move. He pressed, paused, glanced at her face, pressed again. Her brow did not furrow; only the hand on her knee clenched once, then loosened.

”After tonight.” He said.

Jiang Wan acknowledged him. The people at the door all heard. Bai Xiaoman turned her head back, mouth open, looked at Cheng Banshanʼs face, and shut it again. Inside, Qian Duoduo knocked a bowl once, and then no more sound.

Cheng Banshan withdrew his hand. ”Tomorrow at the Mao hour, Iʼll check your pulse once more. Only after that are you allowed to hold a sword.” He paused. ”Iʼm not hoarding this one day from you.”

”Who said youʼre hoarding.”

”You wonʼt say it. Itʼs written on your face.”

Jiang Wan said nothing.

”These ten days you healed yourself. The pills I gave only kept it from worsening.” Cheng Banshan rose, tucking his one hand behind his back as well. ”The medicine box is empty. Iʼll mix more once weʼre back. If you canʼt lift it tomorrow, donʼt force it.”

”Iʼll lift it.” Jiang Wan said this without looking at him, her eyes resting on the sword against the stone wall.

”Then lift it.” Cheng Banshan walked into the stone chamber and turned back at the door. ”No hitting people with the flat of the blade. Last time, that blow sat heavy in my chest for half a month.”

Jiang Wan set down the bowl, sat a while, then reached for the sword on the stone wall.

She moved it over and laid it on the stone beside her hand, hilt turned inward, scabbard tip against the ground. Her hand rested on the scabbard a moment and did not draw. Xu Yan saw it from the doorway, said nothing, and turned his eyes back to the pool. During that moment her hand rested on the scabbard, no one in the chamber made a sound.

At the Dog hour, Qian Duoduo divided the flatbread. One by one, the people in the chamber settled down to sleep—sleeping spots as usual, no one shifting. Huo Qing finished his piece, laid his sword from his knees to his side, sat against the wall for a while, then stretched out his legs.

At the Ox hour, the air in the stone chamber shifted once. Xu Yan sat down at the door, crossed his legs flat, and pressed a hand against his chest, through two layers of cloth.

The chamber was dark, but the sound told you who was there. Qian Duoduoʼs teeth ground for a spell and stopped, stopped for a spell and started again. Shi Po slept deep, letting out a long breath every so often. Cheng Banshan breathed out in steady rhythm; even asleep he was thinking about something. Du Xiaochuan turned halfway over, the cloth rustled once, then silence.

In the wall corner tonight there was the sound of turning. The sword lay on the stone beside her, not across her knees. Xu Yan did not go in. Did not ask.

He lined up in his mind what needed doing: at the Mao hour on the first of the Sixth Month, Elder Cheng takes her pulse; once thatʼs done and the sword lifts, someone will test it on the terrace; only a few days before the gate seals, and once out of the Hidden Realm, Qian Duoduo will bake that first pot; as for leaving on the second—he still hadnʼt told anyone. Done arranging, he drew his legs in and sat straight.

In the innermost spot against the wall, a shallow breath, one after another. The sword was within reach of her hand. She was asleep, and her hand had never left the scabbard.

The stone terrace made no sound. The pool made none either. Half the watch still remained.