My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 188: Too Busy Flipping Flatbread to Notice

On the ninth day of the sixth month, at the hour of Mao, a thin layer of white mist hung over the river.

Qi Qi sat on the lowest stone step at the Luoxia Wharf, elbows resting on his knees, counting the people on the Heavenly Sword Sectʼs boat. The mooring rope came up out of the water, a string of droplets landing on the deck. He counted from stern to bow three times: ten. Wei Changge stood at the very front, one hand braced on the gunwale, sword hanging at his left hip, the tassel newly replaced.

The Xuanshui Palace boat was moored alongside. Lin Lian crouched at the bow, trailing her hand in the river, fingers skimming the surface. When the boat shifted, she stood, shook her hand dry, and went below deck.

The two boats pulled out to mid-river one after the other. Wei Changge cast one glance toward the mountains. The ridge north of Luoxia Town was still clearly outlined in the morning light. After that glance, he went below.

Qi Qi stood and brushed the dust from his trouser legs, then followed the river west. After half a shichen—about an hour—he reached the road by the quarry. The Wanshou Mountain camp had already been struck: tents rolled into bundles and stacked on the large cart, alongside two iron cauldrons, several coils of rope, and a pile of wooden stakes. A ring of shallow pits remained in the ground where the stones had pressed down.

Xiong Dai crouched by the cart wheel, one hand drawing the rope end tight, his teeth holding the knot as he bit down. He looked up and saw Qi Qi.

”Still flipping flatbread on the mountain?”

”Still flipping.”

”Iʼll come up and buy some next time.”

”Two spirit stones a bowl.”

”Iʼll remember.” Xiong Dai tucked the rope end into a gap in the cart frame and pushed himself up on the cart shaft. ”That accountant of yours. Figures things fine. So fine my two petitions came to nothing.”

Qi Qi said nothing. Xiong Dai didnʼt press it either. He leapt onto the cart shaft; the carter cracked his whip, and the wagon rumbled down the dirt road toward the official highway.

Qi Qi walked back to the Town Gate and stood beneath the old pagoda tree by the roadside. Starting from the hour of Si, the five sects left town one by one. Jinding Pavilionʼs cart went first. Pang Ce settled the inn bill at the doorway; the shopkeeper followed him out saying the mats in the East Courtyard had all been put away, then turned and went back with a wet rag to scrub the threshold. Boot prints marked the stone—he wiped three times before they came white. Qi Qi walked past the door; the shopkeeper straightened up. ”The ten from the East Courtyard—all their bedding rolled themselves. Room fee paid daily, never owed a day.”

”Noted,” Qi Qi said.

The Earth God Shrine that Taiyi Temple had borrowed was closed. Before Ke Wujiu left, he had swept the ground in front of the shrine; the ash in the incense burner was pressed down perfectly flat. Zhenyue Sectʼs cart went last. Gan Ren crouched at the stone shop courtyard gate, one hand pressed to the ground for a moment before he climbed aboard.

At midday, a cart from the Branch passed through the Town Gate—Qi Qi recognized the chestnut mule from the carriage house. Wen Su saw him as she climbed up and paused a step.

”Tell Sect Master Xu when you get back: the roster and the promotion documents—before the thirtieth of the eighth month.”

”Noted.”

The cart left. Qi Qi stood under the old pagoda tree until the hour of Shen. When no more carts or horses came down the official highway, he headed up the mountain, reaching the Mountain Gate an hour later. Nie Bo was sweeping inside the gate archway and stepped aside with his broom when he saw him.

At the hour of You, in the Main Hall, Qi Qi reported everything he had observed along the way: the Heavenly Sword Sect and Xuanshui Palace boats departed at Mao, heading east; the Wanshou Mountain cart left at Chen, taking the official highway; Jinding Pavilion, Zixia Palace, Lihuo Hall, Taiyi Temple, and Zhenyue Sect all left town one after another on the official highway, nothing left behind in town; the Rank Evaluatorʼs cart passed the Town Gate at midday.

”The innʼs East and West Courtyards are empty,” he said. ”The grain shopʼs back court is empty too. The Earth God Shrine is locked.”

”The quarry?” Xu Yan asked.

”Just the pits left.”

Xu Yan nodded once and spread the account book across the table in the Main Hall.

”The ninth of the ninth month, Qingya applies for Seventh Rank.”

Qian Duoduoʼs palm fan stopped mid-swing. A He and A Sui exchanged a glance.

Xu Yan read from the ledger page, going down item by item. ”Registered Disciples: ten. The paper roster is under the offering table in the Ancestral Hall. Not one more, not one less.”

A Sui raised her hand to her chest, then lowered it. ”Me too?”

”Yes. Your name is on it.”

”Even if my writing is slow?”

”Slow is still your name.” Xu Yan went on. ”Foundation Establishment on the roster: two. Senior Sister, Uncle Shao.”

Shao Ming waved a hand. ”Iʼm only early Foundation Establishment.”

”The rules count only the stage, not early or late.”

Jiang Wan stood just inside the Main Hall door, sword still on her back. ”That makes two.”

”Sect-Protecting Formation: Bai Xiaoman.”

Bai Xiaoman spoke up at once. ”I can hold it. When itʼs done, someone carries me down.”

Shi Po said, ”Iʼll carry her.”

”Rank Silver: one hundred and twenty spirit stones, counted on the day of the Autumn Evaluation.”

Qian Duoduo asked, ”One twenty—is it in the accounts?”

”It is. Enough in the cash box. Just donʼt spend it all.”

”Filed on record: none.” Xu Yan turned the page. ”This item—the judgment document from the eighth said exactly that: not recorded.”

A stillness settled over the Main Hall. Qian Duoduoʼs fan started moving again; A He shifted his feet.

Shao Ming asked, ”What if one of the five conditions is missing?”

”Then next year,” Xu Yan said. ”Come back next year.”

”Then donʼt let a single one go missing,” Jiang Wan said.

”Ninety days until the Autumn Evaluation,” Xu Yan said. ”By the end of the eighth month, Iʼll take the roster to the Branch to submit. Qi Qi comes with me.”

Cheng Banshan sat on a low stool by the threshold, his wine gourd at his feet, one hand on his knee. ”Weʼve barely warmed the Eighth Rank seat.”

”If you wait for it to warm, youʼll be waiting until next year.”

Huo Qing asked, ”Is there an exam for Seventh Rank?”

”No,” Xu Yan said. ”The five conditions are all on this paper. What they look at is whether the sect has people, has a formation, has money, has a clean record.”

”Ninety days. Enough,” Jiang Wan said.

Qian Duoduo started counting on his fingers. ”June still has five markets, July six, August six, and one more on the fifth of the ninth month—eighteen markets. One hundred per market...”

”We still need rations, firewood, medicine,” Xu Yan said. ”Rice goes up the moment autumn starts.”

Qian Duoduo pulled his hand back. ”Then Iʼll recalculate.”

A He asked, ”After we reach Seventh Rank, do we still set up the stall?”

”We do,” Xu Yan said. ”The stall is Qingyaʼs income. Seventh Rank still has to eat.”

They dispersed at the hour of Xu. Xu Yan added a line at the bottom of the June page, set the brush back in the holder, and trimmed the lamp wick with the scissors. Everyone else had left the Main Hall. Jiang Wan unpinned her sword at the door and turned back. ”After Seventh Rank—does that mean taking in more people?”

”Taking people means rooms and rations.” Xu Yan said. ”Letʼs not talk about that yet.”

She made a soft sound of assent and carried her sword toward the East Courtyard.

On the tenth day of the sixth month, before the end of the hour of Yin, red light already showed through the kitchen window.

Qian Duoduo lifted the lids off both large pots. White steam surged up, struck the roof beam, and scattered. Du Xiaochuan laid his carrying pole across the threshold, arranged the rope loops, and pressed the wooden bucket lids down tight, one after another. The two of them started down the mountain in the dark—ten li of mountain road, reaching the Town Gate just as the sky lightened.

At the hour of Chen, the Medicine Hall furnace lit. Cheng Banshan set ten small bottles in a row on the table with one hand, then counted them. ”Ten bottles. Donʼt spill any.”

”Ten bottles wonʼt be enough,” Qi Qi said as he tucked them away.

”The furnace is only this big.” Cheng Banshan hung the furnace hook back on his belt. ”Next market comes more.”

Qi Qi stowed the bottles flat against his chest and ran down the mountain the moment he left the hall.

By the hour of Si he was at the market. The stall still stood beneath the third pillar along the wall, the old tile eaves above just covering it. The sun had already climbed onto the tiles; only a strip of shade remained beneath the eaves. Two pots of spirit meals were laid out, and Du Xiaochuan stacked the bowls in neat piles.

The townspeople came earlier than usual. Some came to eat; some came to see.

”Cook Qian, I hear treasureʼs been found up on your mountain?”

”Found two pots of spirit meals.”

”Thatʼs not what I mean.” The man lowered his voice. ”The Eight Great Sects were here a whole month, even filed disputes against you.”

”Disputes I donʼt understand.” Qian Duoduo tapped the pot rim with his long ladle. ”All I did in there was flip flatbread.”

”What did it look like inside?”

”Cold. Rocks everywhere. Thereʼs a pool; the waterʼs drinkable.”

”Thatʼs all?”

”Thatʼs all. I was on night watch.”

The man didnʼt believe him and turned to ask Qi Qi. Qi Qi set the bottles from his chest onto the stall. ”If there was treasure, it wouldnʼt be me hauling it out. I canʼt carry much. Iʼm just fast.”

Another person pointed at the stall and asked, ”The Eight Sects are gone now—are you moving the stall?”

Qian Duoduo pushed the pots deeper into the shade. ”Not moving. Under this pillar, weʼve worked from Ninth Rank to Eighth.”

A rogue cultivator who arrived half a ke late squeezed to the front of the stall. The ten bottles were already gone. He asked if thereʼd be more next market. Qian Duoduo wiped the counter with a rag. ”Market days, fives and tens. Come early.”

By noon they were sold out. The sun had baked the tiles until they were hot to the touch. The last bowl of soup went into someoneʼs hands. Du Xiaochuan turned the two empty pots upside down. Qian Duoduo went to the grain shop for two potsʼ worth of spirit rice: ten spirit stones. The shop hand measured the rice, saying, ”You go through rice fast.”

”Three days a pot.”

They returned to the mountain at the hour of You. Qian Duoduo set one hundred spirit stones on the accounts room table. Xu Yan counted them under the lamp, then counted again, before putting brush to ledger. ”Two pots: eighty. Ten bottles: thirty. Spirit rice: ten. One hundred.”

”Is it enough for Seventh Rank?”

”Enough to buy rice.”

The fifteenth, twentieth, twenty-fifth, and thirtieth of the sixth month—one market after another passed. The days grew hotter; the strip of shade under the tile eaves grew narrower. Qian Duoduo moved the pots to the very back; Du Xiaochuan stood at the stallʼs edge passing out bowls, sweat running down his chin and dripping onto the rims. When the market closed on the thirtieth, Qian Duoduo bought Julyʼs rations at the grain shop. The two of them hauled it up the mountain, not passing through the Mountain Gate until the sun had dropped behind the ridge.

Life on the mountain went on as before. Sounds came from the veranda before dawn: Huo Qing practicing his thrust against the wooden target, the dent at the bullseye deepening a little each day. At the hour of Mao, sword sounds rose from the East Courtyard. Jiang Wan trained alone, pressing the sword back into its sheath when she finished. At that hour, a bowl of cooled water appeared under the kitchen eaves; A Sui carried it over and set it on the stone platform by the East Courtyard gate, leaving as soon as she placed it. Jiang Wan drank it after training and returned the bowl to its spot. No one mentioned it. Shao Ming sat on the steps before the Ancestral Hall, listening to A He and A Sui recite the formulas. A Sui always lagged half a line behind A He. Bai Xiaoman arranged pebbles in the front courtyard, then collected them, then arranged them again. Nie Bo swept the Mountain Gate; summer leaves could never be fully swept—one pass and the wind brought them down again.

One batch of Qi-Gathering Powder took five days. The furnace couldnʼt go out overnight, so the lamp by the furnace stayed lit. The Medicine Hall window glowed yellow well past midnight, visible from the slope at the Mountain Gate. A He took two night shifts; Cheng Banshan cursed him for feeding the fire too fast, and the third night Du Xiaochuan took over.

The fifth and tenth of the seventh month each brought a market. The stall crowds gradually stopped asking about the Hidden Realm. Qi Qi just collected bowls.

After the tenth-market day, the sword sounds from the East Courtyard grew shorter. Jiang Wan sheathed her sword earlier than usual. When she finished, she didnʼt go inside; she stood in the middle of the courtyard, hand on the sword hilt, standing there a while before returning to her room. Cheng Banshan stood at the East Courtyard gate twice, one hand tucked in his sleeve, watching until the end without going in.

Qian Duoduo asked if she was ill. Cheng Banshan said, ”Make something easy to digest.”

”Make it and send it over?”

”Make it. Donʼt send it.”

On the twelfth of the seventh month, at lamp-lighting time, Cheng Banshan came out of the East Courtyard and stopped at the accounts room door.

Xu Yan had the ledger open before him. He looked up.

”For the next couple of days,” Cheng Banshan said, ”no one goes to the East Courtyard.”

Xu Yan set his brush down and said, ”Understood.”

Cheng Banshan headed for the Medicine Hall. Passing through the front courtyard, his hand found the wine gourd at his waist. He touched it, then let his hand fall without taking it down.