My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 182: Wild Spirit Herbs by the Pool

On the third day of the sixth month, before daylight reached the third level, the cold in the stone chamber had already settled to the floor.

Xu Yan sat beneath the doorway, back not touching the stone wall. The cold in this chamber rose from the ground; whoever slept pressed against the stone cooled first. The night before, Cheng Banshan had told them to ”put your bundle under you.” Shi Po hadnʼt, and he slept just as soundly. The nine breaths inside had all slowed to their deepest rhythm. A dozen or so steps below, the door remained shut, its seal pattern indistinguishable in the dark.

His legs had gone numb. He stretched one out, then the other, grinding his soles lightly against the ground twice. The easiest stretch of a night watch was the middle; the hardest was that gray hour before dawn, when a man sat in shadow and his mind started reckoning on its own—how many flatbreads remained, how much water, two shichen tomorrow to reach the first level, another two the day after from the first level to the stone gate, and theyʼd need to leave early on sealing day. He finished those sums, then suddenly remembered he hadnʼt closed his eyes all night, and then remembered these accounts didnʼt need settling tonight.

The layer of paper was still against his chest.

He pressed it through his clothes. The folded corner dug hard into his palm, same as when heʼd folded it the night before, same crease. He didnʼt take it out. He moved his hand away.

Mao hour arrived; he rose. First he nudged Shi Po, who opened his eyes and sat up straight at once, hand still on his bundle. Then he called Qian Duoduo, who grunted and tilted back over. Shi Po grabbed his arm and hauled him upright; he sat there feeling his own face. Bai Xiaoman woke on her own, rubbing her eyes and groping at the wall. Shao Ming got up efficiently, tied his bundle, and with the same motion hoisted Du Xiaochuanʼs as well. Huo Qing was already sitting straight in the far corner, sword on his knees. Jiang Wan came out with her sword already in hand, the cloth around the scabbard mouth wrapped neat. Cheng Banshan sat up last, one hand pressing against his lower back twice.

”This stone,” he said, ”is harder than the plank I slept on back at Lihuo Hall.”

”You had straw under that plank,” Shao Ming said.

”It was hard even with straw.”

Bai Xiaoman walked outside the doorway, went down a few steps, stopped, and looked at the door.

”Still the same,” she said, coming back.

Xu Yan answered, ”Letʼs move.”

No one asked about the night. Qi Qi was the last one up, and the first thing he did was find his bundle. Shi Po slung things over his shoulders one by one. Qian Duoduo was counting the remaining flatbreads and got halfway before Cheng Banshan hurried him along. However theyʼd come into this stone chamber the night before, that was how they left it this morning.

The steps went up. Step by step, feet landing lighter than on the way down, lifting heavier. The first stretch was still dark; the dust on the walls was dry, and a scuff of the foot raised a layer. Shi Po walked in front, and the dust settled on the shoulders of those behind. After a hundred-some steps, light leaked through cracks high in the rock—first a thread, then patches of brightness slanting onto the steps, onto shoulders. The step edges were worn round, the middles lower than the sides, trodden by who knew how many feet.

Qian Duoduo started panting halfway up. His panting had rhythm; every few pants heʼd say, ”Going down you donʼt notice, but coming up—whyʼs this staircase so long?”

”Same length,” Shi Po said from ahead, one bundle slung front, one back.

”Your legs are long.”

”Youʼve got two as well.”

Qi Qi laughed, then his foot caught on a step edge and he grabbed the wall to keep from pitching forward. The laugh cut off. Jiang Wan, behind him, said only, ”Watch your feet.”

Cheng Banshan tucked the oilcloth bundle into the crook of his arm, one hand on the wall, stopping every so often. When he stopped he didnʼt sit, just stood, evening out his breath before lifting his foot again. Bai Xiaoman walked ahead of him; at the brighter spots sheʼd turn and wait, and while waiting, brush the dust off his sleeve.

Jiang Wan walked a while, then looked back at Xu Yan. ”You had the watch until the yin hour. You need to sleep during the day.”

”Mm,” Xu Yan said.

”Not just ʼmm,ʼ” she said. ”Find somewhere to lie down.”

”I wonʼt sleep even lying down,” Xu Yan said. ”Sitting works better.”

She didnʼt press. They climbed into the light, and Xu Yan was sweating. He pressed his hand against his front, then through his clothes felt the folded corner again. The paper hadnʼt softened. Still hard.

They reached the second level at the si hour.

The stone plaza was still the stone plaza; the soil in its cracks had dried till it flaked, crunching underfoot. The far end of the plaza was empty—no bundles at the chamber doors, no torch poles leaning on the wall, no people. The Heavenly Sword Sect contingent had gone off elsewhere on the second level on the first of the month, and once gone, theyʼd left barely a footprint on the stone.

Qi Qi glanced over and muttered, ”They cleaned up well.”

No one answered him.

Huo Qing crossed the plazaʼs edge without stopping, eyes never turning that way, and only stopped at the pool. Shi Po followed behind; passing that open ground he dipped his head: there was a shallow scratch across the stone, running diagonally through the plaza, from that day. He looked at it, then caught up, saying nothing.

At the wu hour, the ten of them sat by the pool. Qian Duoduo untied his bundle, counted the remaining flatbreads one by one, and divided them by head: one for each. The rest he wrapped up and pressed back under the bundle.

”Two more meals after this,” he said. ”The morning we leave counts as one too.”

”Enough?” Shi Po said.

”Enough if weʼre frugal.”

”Are you sure oneʼs enough for you?” Qian Duoduo said. ”Iʼll break off half of mine for you.”

”No need.”

”You already said no need,” Jiang Wan said. ”If itʼs broken off, just eat it.”

Qian Duoduo broke off a small half and held it out; Shi Po took it.

Cheng Banshan didnʼt eat. He crouched first at the waterʼs edge to look at the grass.

After the dewdrop grass had been harvested, the shore still held bits and pieces growing in crevices, behind rocks, a little above the waterline. Small leaves, clumped, mixed in color—most of it weeds. Cheng Banshan unhooked the herb hoe from his waist and passed it to Du Xiaochuan, then crouched down himself, pinched a leaf between his fingers, rubbed it apart, lowered his head to smell it, and tossed it away. He moved two steps forward and pinched another; this one he held, didnʼt throw.

”This one,” he said.

”How can you tell?” Bai Xiaoman leaned in. ”This clump looks just like that clump.”

”Look at the back.” Cheng Banshan flipped the leaf over. ”A white layer underneath, and where you snapped it, sap comes out. The ones that look the same—their backs are green, and the break is dry.”

Bai Xiaoman pinched one and held it up to her eyes, studying it until she went cross-eyed.

Du Xiaochuan took the hoe and crouched down, first looking for where the root was.

”Strike three fingersʼ width from the outside,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Work around it; donʼt drive straight in. Anything you drive to the bottom of is ruined.”

Du Xiaochuan tried the first plant. The hoe went in; the soil was loose, and he scraped it back layer by layer, exposing a net of white root tendrils spreading through the crevice, one strand worming deep into the crack. His hand paused.

”The one that wormed in,” Cheng Banshan said, ”follow the crack and work it out. If it wonʼt move, break it. Broken ones go over there.”

”Broken doesnʼt count?” Bai Xiaoman asked.

”Dewdrop grass is ruined if a single tendril breaks. This isnʼt that particular,” Cheng Banshan said. He took the dug-up plant, shook off the dirt twice, didnʼt wash it, and dropped it into the medicine pouch with one hand. ”Wonʼt make a big decoction. Broken ones still work for wine infusion.”

Jiang Wan watched a while, then drew half her sword and probed beneath a clump with the tip.

”Donʼt,” Cheng Banshan said.

The tip had already gone in. A flick brought up dirt and grass together; the root snapped off in the soil, only half remaining.

Jiang Wan withdrew the sword and looked at the half left in the earth.

”A sword is a sword, a hoe is a hoe,” Cheng Banshan said. ”That sword of yours can split stone. It canʼt pull out a tangle of root hairs.”

”Understood,” Jiang Wan said, sheathing the sword. She crouched and started digging at the remaining clump with her hands.

”Donʼt use your hands either,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Go spread the cloth over there.”

Du Xiaochuan dug them up one by one. Some grew from crevices, roots running deep; no matter how carefully he worked, he could only save half the hairs. Others grew among weeds, soil loose, and came up at a pull. Whole roots he placed on his side; broken-haired ones separate. Shao Ming untied a cloth and spread it on a stone; Cheng Banshan laid the plants on it, soil and roots together.

”Donʼt wash them,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Dry them with the soil on; weʼll clean them when weʼre back on the mountain. If you wash them, they have to go in the pot the same day, and weʼve got no pot here.”

”After we finish this patch, is there more?” Du Xiaochuan asked.

”The poolside only grows this much,” Cheng Banshan said. ”They grow where water seeps through the stone; they donʼt sprout from bare rock. Finding them is luck.”

”Then Iʼll keep looking,” Du Xiaochuan said.

”And donʼt put hoe to ground when you find one,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Call me first. Iʼll smell it.”

Shi Po had been crouched watching for a while. Now he plunged both hands into the soil beneath a big rock and scooped out clump after clump of earth—four, five handfuls—and out came a plant with every root intact, soil-ball and all.

”Hands beat the hoe,” Shi Po said.

Cheng Banshan looked. ”Fast, yes. Two more scoops like that and every hair in that patch is broken off inside.”

”Iʼll scoop around the edges then.”

”Even at the edges, watch the root hairs,” Cheng Banshan said. ”You dig four, Iʼll keep two.”

Shi Po wiped his hands on his trousers, crouched to one side, and started working more slowly, one plant at a time. Qian Duoduo laughed behind him, shoulders shaking.

Xu Yan crouched by the cloth looking at the two piles. The whole ones had white root hairs; the broken ones were yellowing, every plant laid out flat, arranged neater than ledger pages.

”Whatʼs it good for?” he asked.

”Wine infusion,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Medicinal wine. It can work out the dull ache in the sinews and warm joints that have gone cold. Not much—enough for two jars.”

”Can it be sold?”

”It wonʼt fetch a price,” Cheng Banshan said. ”Scraps donʼt sell. Itʼs for our own use.”

Jiang Wan rinsed the dirt off her hands at the waterʼs edge and looked back at the two piles. ”Thatʼs all?”

”Thatʼs all,” Cheng Banshan said. ”And you snapped one. So one less.”

Jiang Wan said nothing more. She crouched and picked up the remaining half from the soil, shook it clean, and placed it on the broken-hair pile.

The sun slanted down from the stone plaza onto the water, creeping east bit by bit. The pool was still as a slab of blue stone; only now and then a ring spread from its center, where water dripped from a crack in the rock.

Qi Qi crouched by the water a while, then said, ”Thereʼs something down there.”

”Stones,” Shi Po said.

”Stones move?”

”The water moves.”

Qi Qi was about to say something else when Jiang Wan flicked the water from her hands twice. ”Enough. The poolʼs as full of stones as itʼll get.”

By mid-wei hour, Cheng Banshan stood, tightened the cord at the medicine pouchʼs mouth, hung it on his waist, and looked back at the two piles.

”Scraps,” he said. ”Wonʼt make a big decoction, but enough for wine.”

Qi Qi asked, ”What wine do you soak them in?”

”Anything that can be poured down the throat.”

”Once weʼre out of the Hidden Realm, Iʼll go down the mountain and get you two jars,” Qi Qi said. ”The shop behind the Luoxia Grain Co.—three stones a jar.”

”Those three stones, keep them for yourself,” Cheng Banshan said. ”I still have half a jar in the Medicine Hall.”

”That half jar is the same half jar from before winter.”

”Whatʼs stored is wine.” Cheng Banshan took back the herb hoe and wiped the dirt on the hem of his robe. ”Whether I drink it is another matter.”

Du Xiaochuan dug up the last plant, half the root hairs broken. Cheng Banshan took it and put it in the pouch all the same. Shi Po gathered the cloth by its four corners, carrying the whole-rooted ones on top, and followed back.

You hour: the light fell from the stone plaza, and the chamber by the pool went dark. The ten of them divided up spaces as usual—Jiang Wan, Bai Xiaoman, and Qian Duoduo toward the back; Cheng Banshan, Shao Ming, and Du Xiaochuan in the middle; Shi Po, Huo Qing, and Qi Qi near the door; Xu Yan slept by the entrance. The floor already had hollows worn from previous nights; no need to lay anything out.

Qian Duoduo gathered everyoneʼs water flasks to the pool, crouched, and pressed them one by one into the water—glug, glug—filled, pulled up, corked, and hung each on the rock wall.

”Tomorrow itʼs two shichen to the first level,” he said, counting on his fingers. ”Then the day after, another two to the gate.”

”Go easy on water on the road,” Cheng Banshan said. ”On the steps thereʼs not a drop for a full shichen.”

”Enough,” Qian Duoduo said, patting the flasks on the wall.

Qi Qi rewrapped the remaining flatbreads and pressed them under his bundle. ”We leave before dawn tomorrow?”

”Before dawn,” Xu Yan said.

Jiang Wan sat by the door, laid the sword across her knees, drew it halfway to inspect the edge, and pushed it back. She glanced at Xu Yan. ”The chou-hour watch—want me to take it for you?”

”Iʼm used to it.”

”Being used to it doesnʼt mean you donʼt need sleep.”

Xu Yan said, ”Sitting up, I can make out all nine of your breaths clearly. Lying down, Iʼd have to count them over again once I wake.”

Jiang Wan rested her hand on the scabbard mouth, didnʼt press further, and went inside.

The night watches rotated as usual. The first two sat, no fire. By the time Xu Yanʼs watch came, it was the chou hour. He sat by the door and listened through the nine breaths inside again, pausing when he reached Shi Poʼs, then continuing down. Cheng Banshanʼs was rough; one of Qian Duoduoʼs exhalations ran long; Bai Xiaoman turned over; Jiang Wanʼs hand brushed the scabbard mouth once.

No sound from the plaza. The pool made no noise all night.

He pressed his hand to his chest. The paper was still there, the folded corner digging into his palm. He didnʼt take it out.