My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 177: Seam Seals

The flatbread had been pressed in the bundle for nearly a month. It crumbled when broken.

Qian Duoduo spread the bundle open on the flat stone outside the stone chamber door, broke off a piece, dipped it in the pool water, and set it on the rock. ”Soak the hard ones first; eat them once they soften,” he said. ”One each. Two meals today.”

Bai Xiaoman reached for the one on the far edge, and he swatted her hand away. ”The one thatʼs been soaking longest is Senior Sisterʼs.”

Shi Po took three pieces. Qian Duoduo glanced at him. ”You took three yesterday too.” Shi Po said, ”Todayʼs a long walk.” Qian Duoduo let it go and pushed the bundle cloth a little closer to him.

Jiang Wan sat on the threshold, her sword at her side, the worn white ring around the scabbard mouth facing the door. She broke her flatbread in half, ate the water-soaked half first, and held the other in her hand. Cheng Banshan crouched by the pool, his empty sleeve tucked behind his back, one hand cinching the strap of his medicine pouch, then feeling over the pouch mouth before he stood.

Qi Qi came back from the stone plaza just then. He circled around the rocks by the pool, his steps silent, and only spoke when he reached the stone chamber door. ”Sect Master.”

Xu Yan looked up.

”Yesterday evening, people from Jinding Pavilion, Taiyi Temple, and Zhenyue Sect went down the stone stair mouth behind the rock face at the far end of the stone plaza,” Qi Qi said. ”Before dawn I went over to check. The men watching the packs said so. Torch ash on the ground. They say they went down with a wooden chest, a bronze chisel resting on top, talisman paper rolled into a scroll and stuck through their belts.”

”Anyone come up this morning?”

”No. Only a few pack-watchers left on that side, guarding the stair mouth. They said theyʼd carry the packs down before noon.” Qi Qi said, ”There are people talking below. The wind blows inward, so I couldnʼt make out the words—only one: ʼdoor.ʼ”

Shao Ming swallowed his flatbread by the pool. ”Did they bring water?”

”They did. A water flask each.”

”Thereʼs a door below.” Bai Xiaoman squeezed the flatbread in her hand flat. ”The stone stairs go straight down. They have to lead somewhere.”

Shi Po said, ”Where there are stone stairs, someone has walked.”

”And if the stairs end and thereʼs no way forward?” Bai Xiaoman asked.

”Then we come back and eat flatbread by the pool.” Xu Yan said.

”Iʼll carry the bread,” Qian Duoduo answered from behind.

”Then donʼt drop it.” Cheng Banshan said.

Xu Yan finished his piece, stood, and brushed off the crumbs. ”Eat up. Then we go down and take a look.”

Ten people gathered their bundles. Cheng Banshan pressed each water flask one by one and said, ”Fill them all. Going down is easy; coming back up costs qi.” Everyone hung their flasks back at their waists. Qian Duoduo wrapped the remaining flatbread, tied a knot, and slung it over his shoulder. Shi Po picked up the other bundle in one hand. Huo Qing shifted the wooden scabbard behind him and said nothing.

At the opening at the edge of the stone plaza, Xu Yan counted heads. Everyone was there.

At the Snake hour, the ten of them descended the stone stair mouth.

The steps were narrow—two could not walk abreast. Stone wall on one side, stone wall on the other, with only a sliver of sky between. Shi Po led, Bai Xiaoman a step behind him with one hand braced on the wall. Huo Qing followed Shi Po. Cheng Banshan fourth. Then Shao Ming, Qi Qi, Du Xiaochuan, Qian Duoduo. Jiang Wan walked ahead of Xu Yan; Xu Yan brought up the rear.

After a stretch, that sliver of sky overhead faded.

Further down, a fine layer of dust had settled on the stairs. Footprints in the dust pressed one over another, all pointing down. Shi Po stopped, ground his foot in the dust, and said, ”Only going down.”

”Going down means they havenʼt come back.” Xu Yan said.

The stone wall turned damp under their hands. The first stretch had been dry; later, fingers came away sheened with water. The deeper they went, the colder it grew. The chill rose from below, not pressing down from above. Du Xiaochuanʼs foot slipped on a wet patch; he caught Qian Duoduo, and the two of them stood against the wall for a moment before continuing.

Every footfall on the stone stairs echoed once from above, as if someone else walked elsewhere in step with them. Qian Duoduo turned back three times. The third time he heard Shao Ming say ”itʼs an echo,” and stopped turning.

Qian Duoduo had to shift the bundle from shoulder to shoulder as he walked. On the third shift, someone lifted it away from behind.

”Senior Sister, I can carry it myself,” he panted.

”Keep walking.” Jiang Wan said.

She carried the bundle in one hand without slowing. At a bend, she glanced back, then turned forward again.

”They went down last night.” Jiang Wan said after a while, on the stairs.

”Thereʼs only one path.” Xu Yan said. ”Whoever goes down first sees first.”

Jiang Wan asked nothing more.

Bai Xiaoman counted steps the whole way. After a while, she suddenly spoke. ”These werenʼt cut.”

”What?” Shi Po asked.

”The stairs,” she said. ”The edges are worn. Cut stone has chisel marks. These have been rounded by feet.”

Shi Po looked down at his own feet. ”A lot of walking.”

”How many people does it take to round off stone?” Qian Duoduo said from behind, then froze at his own words and said no more.

”Donʼt ask.” Shao Ming said. ”Keep moving.”

Bai Xiaoman pulled her finger back from the dust and wiped it on her sleeve. She stopped counting after that. When Xu Yan asked how far sheʼd gotten, she said, ”A hundred and something. Lost count.” Then she added, ”Anyway, every step is one less.”

A broken groove showed here and there along the stair edge, snapped short in the dust, only an inch of edge left. When Bai Xiaoman saw one, she crouched, elbows on her knees, leaning close, her finger hovering over the groove without touching. She looked, stood, said nothing, and walked on. Cheng Banshan asked once, ”What is it?” She shook her head. ”Broken. Canʼt tell.”

After an hour, the stairs made one final turn ahead. Before rounding it, Xu Yan counted the backs of heads once more.

Past the turn, it suddenly opened up.

A small stretch of stone ground spread out from the stair mouth, wide enough to hold several dozen people, stone walls on all sides, the ceiling low overhead. A door was set into the wall directly ahead. Two stone slabs joined, taller than a man, no door ring, no bolt, no inscription on either side. Between the right-hand panel and the frame, a seam remained—very fine, a line of black. No light came through it, and no wind.

A seal pattern lay across the seam.

Half of it on the door, half on the frame. The color was like old, settled ink; the pattern was fine curving lines, horizontals pressing over verticals. Stare too long and the eyes swam.

High on the wall, a crack let a patch of daylight fall into the center of the stone ground. Everything else lay in shadow.

A shallow groove ran across the stone ground in front of the door, from the stair side all the way to beneath the door, worn bright.

Beside the last bend of the stairs stood a stone chamber, its door open, no one inside. The floor dust had been flattened over a wide area. Against the wall, two burned-out torch stubs; inside the doorway, several bundles stacked, knots facing out.

The three sects were scattered across the stone ground. Jinding Pavilion held the wall side, half of them sitting on the rocks, a few standing by the door, a wooden chest at their feet with a bronze chisel resting on the lid while one disciple wiped dust from his hands. Ke Wujiu of Taiyi Temple stood a few paces from the door in his Daoist robe, compass in hand, eyes fixed on that seam; behind him, several disciples pressed talisman paper flat on the stones, smoothing each sheet. Zhenyue Sectʼs people kept to the stair side, Gan Ren crouched on the stone ground outside the threshold, one palm flat on the stone, the other hand hanging by his knee. A water gourd passed hand to hand. Scattered bits of burned talisman paper lay crinkled underfoot.

As the Qingya people came down the stairs, the low talk on the stone ground paused.

Pang Ce looked back and cupped his hands. ”Sect Master Xu came too.”

”Daoyou Pang.” Xu Yan said.

”Itʼs cold down here.” Pang Ce said. ”We slept in this stone chamber last night. In the middle of the night, one of our disciples said the ground under his feet was cold.”

”The whole way down, it only got colder.” Xu Yan said.

Pang Ce tipped his chin toward the door. ”Good timing, host sect. Weʼve been trying this door since daybreak. Half a day, and we havenʼt moved it an inch.”

”Did you try everything that can be tried?” Xu Yan asked.

”One round.” Pang Ce said. ”The second round was the same.”

Xu Yan did not answer.

By the wall, a Jinding Pavilion disciple muttered something to the man beside him. They both laughed, eyes flicking toward the stair side.

Bai Xiaoman pressed the cloth bundle tighter under her sleeve and pressed her lips together. Shi Po set his bundle down without looking up. Jiang Wanʼs brow moved; she shifted half a step forward. Xu Yan said quietly, ”Senior Sister.” She stopped and did not go further.

She set the bundle at the edge of the stone ground, sword in hand, and took her place on Xu Yanʼs left. Shi Po moved to the side of the door, back against the wall. Bai Xiaoman stepped forward two paces, tilted her head up at the seam, studied it for a long while, then stepped back and stood at Xu Yanʼs side, both hands clasped over the cloth bundle under her sleeve, making no move to touch. Huo Qing stood half a step behind Shi Po, left hand hanging at his side. Cheng Banshan shifted his medicine pouch to his front, one hand on the pouch mouth, and looked down at the talisman paper scraps on the stone ground for a moment, then nudged one free with his foot and only looked. Shao Ming, Du Xiaochuan, Qi Qi, and Qian Duoduo moved toward the stair edge and stacked their things together.

Ke Wujiu stepped back two paces from the door, tucked the compass into his sleeve, and gave Xu Yan a Daoist bow without speaking. Gan Ren rose from outside the threshold, brushed the dust from his hands, and nodded at Xu Yan.

Silence fell over the stone ground again.

Xu Yan surveyed the scene from the stair mouth: Jinding Pavilionʼs wooden chest on the flat stone nearest the door, Taiyi Templeʼs talisman paper spread by the door, Zhenyue Sectʼs people on the stair side. Whoever stood closest to the door was waiting to divide.

Beside him, Bai Xiaoman said very quietly, ”Sect Master, that thing on the seam—half is on the door, half on the frame.”

”Mm.” Xu Yan said.

He did not step onto the stone ground.

He stood on the last stair and looked down at the door. The seal pattern across the seam was in two halves—one pressed onto the door panel, one onto the frame, the two aligning into a single whole. In the Accounts Room, they called this a seam seal: lay two documents together, press one seal across the seam, and once theyʼre parted each carries only half. Anyone swapping in a replacement would be spotted at a glance. The Branchʼs judgments were sealed that way, and so were the duplicate deeds. Heʼd kept the books for ten years and pressed many himself, red seal paste smudging his fingers, still red after two washings.

On the night of the twenty-ninth of the fourth month, in front of the gate on the Back Mountain, he had once opened an [Inventory]. The ledger read: Third Level, sealed, this accounting opened.

That line he had told no one.

Now that seam lay before him across a stretch of stone ground. The three sects had circled it all morning, burned their torches to stubs, and the worn-bright groove ran from the door all the way to his feet. He stood there, the thin ledger against his chest through two layers of cloth. He raised his hand and pressed down on it, held it, and did not take it out.