My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 18: The Paper's Already Counted

The grain shop hand thumped the rice measure down on the counter. "The spirit rice is in back. One pot's worth, four stones. No more than that."

Xu Yan followed him into the back room. Two old cloth sacks leaned against the wall. When the hemp rope came loose, the cool smell of raw grain hit him. Finer than mundane rice, each grain tinged faint green. The shop hand scooped measure after measure into Xu Yan's sack, and when he reached the fourth, a mound rose above the rim. He didn't level it.

"Level it," Xu Yan said.

The hand glanced up at him, scraped a wooden ruler across the top, and tipped what came off back into the sack. "That's all you get for one pot. How many people are eating up on your mountain, anyway?"

"Eight." Xu Yan drew the sack mouth closed and cinched the rope tight. "This sack stays sealed. We use it on the twentieth."

"The twentieth." The hand laughed. "The twentieth, Chixiao people come to buy too. They take two sacks at a time. By the time they're done, all that's left in my measure is dust at the bottom."

"Is the price going up after autumn?"

"Going up." The hand said. "It comes in from Linchuan. Long haul, first to rise."

Xu Yan cinched the sack again. "Then set some aside for me early."

"I already told you, you can't afford it."

"Then I'll save up early."

He counted out four spirit stones, pressing them onto the counter one at a time, and waited until the hand swept them into his cash box before tucking his money pouch back into his robes. Beside the counter sat a row of mundane rice, one hundred twenty copper cash a measure, same price as June. Xu Yan stood there and ran three taels of silver through his head twice: three measures. Done, he hefted the sack of spirit rice in his hand. He didn't say anything.

"Not taking a measure?" the hand asked.

"Next time."

The sun was full on the street when he stepped out. The medicinal smell from Huichun Hall across the way drifted over, bitter with something sweet underneath.

The counter at Huichun Hall was high. Xu Yan straightened up; his chin just cleared the top. Sun Youfu was working an abacus behind it, the beads filmed with herb dust, a white smear left behind every time his fingers passed over them. He lifted his eyes. His hands never stopped.

"Qingya."

"Filling a prescription." Xu Yan spread Cheng Banshan's list out on the counter.

Sun Youfu dragged the paper over and read it from the first line to the last. Below the final line was a smaller note in Cheng Banshan's hand: "Don't haggle." He tapped that line twice with his finger.

"Don't haggle," he said. "Fine. I won't haggle. And I won't give you a discount, either."

Drawers slid open one by one, the copper scale pan clattering against the counter. Herbs went over the scale one at a time, spread on cut paper: white ones, black ones, sliced ones, whole roots still unbroken.

Xu Yan stood outside the counter, checking line by line. His eyes moved too fast. When Sun Youfu reached for the fourth ingredient, Xu Yan reached out and tapped it.

"This one's stale."

"Stale is still the same herb." Sun Youfu knocked the scale pan down. "Qingya hasn't filled a prescription in years. Should I have kept fresh stock just for you?"

Xu Yan pinched the herb between his fingers. Crumbs stuck to his fingertip, dark in color. "How much for the stale?"

"Same price."

"Then next time I want fresh."

"Next time, first clear what you owe at this counter."

Behind the cabinets a girl was sorting herbs. Small, with an overturned wooden crate at her feet. She stood on it to reach the top row, separating mixed herbs, returning each to its place. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbows, her fingers dusted with powder. The drawer edges bore fine charcoal marks, horizontal, one stacked on another.

Sun Youfu folded up the last herb and announced the price: "Six stones."

Xu Yan counted out six spirit stones and set them on the counter.

"Now add the cost of wrapping paper," Sun Youfu said.

The voice behind the cabinets sounded, not loud: "The paper's already counted in the medicine."

Sun Youfu turned.

"It was counted that way last time." She didn't look up, her hands still sorting. "The entry's in the base ledger. Qingya filled one prescription before. The wrapping paper was included in the medicine cost. It wasn't recorded separately."

"What year's ledger are you digging through?"

"Zongmeng calendar year 296, twelfth month." She slid a drawer shut. "I'm copying your shop's daily ledger, and I've just reached your page."

Sun Youfu's hand pressed flat on the counter. The abacus beads went still. "That daily ledger is mine," he said. "Sort your herbs."

"Done sorting."

"Then be done running your mouth too." Sun Youfu said. "If the books don't talk, the counter pays. You're not the one paying for it."

"I'm not paying for it," she said. "I'm counting it."

Sun Youfu turned back to Xu Yan, his face rearranged: "Six stones, plus the paper."

"We'll settle at six." Xu Yan counted the six stones on the counter again and pushed them toward the back.

Sun Youfu picked them up one by one, weighed them in his palm twice, then dropped them in a drawer. He pulled out a sheet of paper to wrap the herbs from the stack pressed under the counter. The edges were damp, the color old—not the oiled paper hanging on the wall. He wrapped the herbs, wound hemp cord around three times, tied a knot, and slid the packet to the counter's edge.

Xu Yan took it. Said nothing.

"I hear your mountain owes a sum to the Branch," Sun Youfu said, pushing the drawer shut.

"We do."

"Two thousand one hundred stones."

"Correct."

Sun Youfu smiled, his eyes narrowing. "An accountant for a Sect Master. I'd wager your ledger is a pretty one."

Xu Yan traded the packet to his other hand. "That entry's pretty. The other one isn't. I'm still working on it."

"You think you can work it out?"

"I can. It's just slow."

Sun Youfu had nothing more to say. He lowered his head to his abacus, pushing the beads up one by one, stopping halfway.

Xu Yan turned toward the door. As he pushed it open, he glanced back. The girl had stepped down from the crate and taken a small abacus from a drawer. All five fingers moved at once, the beads clacking so fast they blurred into one sound. The herbs on the counter were still spread out. She kept calculating while calling toward the back: "West side, third compartment. Refill."

Xu Yan pushed the door open and stepped into the street. The sun was bringing out the medicine smell stronger now. He didn't look back again.

That night in the Accounts Room he counted the spirit stones twice: twenty-three, minus ten out, thirteen remaining. In the ledger he wrote two lines: June 17, spirit rice, one pot, four stones; Huichun Hall, one batch of herbs, six stones. When he finished, he looked down. The line after the rice entry was still empty. He set down the brush and blew out the lamp.

The next day at noon, the smoke from the Kitchen could be smelled from the Front Courtyard.

Qian Duoduo cracked the pot lid open a sliver. Steam rushed out. He clamped it shut fast and crouched to adjust the fire in the stove. A Sui had appeared behind him without a sound, nose twitching. "That smell."

"Half a pot." Qian Duoduo wiped his face with his sleeve. "That's all that's left. Ten bowls."

"Ten bowls!" A Sui counted on her fingers. "Eight people."

"Brother Shi eats three bowls by himself." A He poked his head in the doorway. "So what does that leave you?"

Qian Duoduo's ladle froze on the pot rim. "Who said that?"

"He said it himself." A He said. "This morning, while he was carrying the stones."

"When did I say that?" Shi Po set his stone down at the door, resting it against the frame. He'd changed into a dry jacket, but the sweat hadn't dried on his forehead, and a rope mark pressed across his neck.

"You didn't say it. You swallowed your spit." A He said.

Qian Duoduo ladled out a bowl and set it on the stove edge. "Eat first. The sack for the twentieth doesn't get touched."

Shi Po sat on the low stool by the stove, lifted the bowl, and smelled it before eating. He helped himself to a second bowl, fuller than the first. The third scraped up everything thick from the bottom. A Sui crouched nearby, counting. "One, two, three." At three, he added another half ladle.

"That's enough," Shi Po said.

"Have more if you want." Qian Duoduo said. "This half pot was never for selling, anyway."

From the doorway Xu Yan watched Shi Po reach his right arm for the pot lid, his left shoulder pulling back. The bruising on his shoulder blade had faded to a light yellow. Only a palm-sized patch remained.

"Shoulder," Xu Yan said.

"Doesn't hurt."

"Still carrying stone tomorrow?"

"Carrying. It's lighter now."

Shi Po set the bowl down, pressed both hands on his knees, and stood up. "After this bowl, I don't wobble on the post," he said. "Third trip. Not once."

"That's the stance firming up," Xu Yan said.

A Sui lifted her bowl high. "This beats New Year."

"New Year has meat," A He said.

"Still doesn't smell as good as this." A Sui said. "Grandpa Cheng said that New Year one was pork."

"Pork's only once a year too."

"I'm talking about the smell."

While the siblings argued, their ladles were already in the pot. Qian Duoduo guarded it. "One bowl each, one bowl each. The bottom's for Uncle Nie."

He ladled out another bowl, carried it toward the Mountain Gate, and set it on the doorstep of the low hut by the gate. When he came back, his hands were empty.

Xu Yan asked him by the stove, "How much did half a pot cost you?"

"Not much." Qian Duoduo stirred with the ladle. "Ten bowls' worth. Less than half my spiritual power. A full pot of twenty bowls, now that's costly. Two pots a day is my limit. A third and I don't get back up."

"On the twentieth, one pot to start."

"One pot." Qian Duoduo nodded. "Sell it, then I'll come back and cook the second. If I can't get it out, tomorrow."

When Jiang Wan came in, the Kitchen went quiet for a moment. Qian Duoduo grabbed a bowl from the stack and filled it to the top. "Senior Sister."

She took it, leaned against the doorframe, and ate it bowl by bowl. Xu Yan saw a fresh red mark across the web of her hand. A little remained in the bottom of the bowl. She carried it to the water vat, rinsed it twice, dried it, and placed it back on top of the stack. She said nothing, turned, and headed for the East Courtyard. Halfway across the yard, the sound of a sword started and cut off.

Qian Duoduo waited until she was far away, then said quietly, "She finished."

"Finished," Xu Yan said.

"That's not what I—" Qian Duoduo swallowed the rest of the sentence and put the lid on the pot. "I kept aside two bowls' worth. Shi Senior Brother's three bowls—one bowl of his is worth half a day of my cultivation."

A while later, A Sui ran to the Mountain Gate to check. The bowl still sat on the threshold of the low hut, exactly where it had been placed. Empty, rinsed clean. She carried it back, stood in the middle of the Kitchen, looked at Qian Duoduo first, then set it back on top of the bowl stack.

"He ate it," A Sui said.

"Then he ate it." Qian Duoduo said. "Don't shout about it."

Xu Yan stood by the stove for a while. The pot was still warm. Half a pot of spirit rice had filled a Kitchen cold for years. A He scraped the bottom of A Sui's bowl, and Qian Duoduo swatted the back of his head. Shi Po stood and lifted the iron pot to the corner of the stove platform, both hands straining. When the pot bottom cleared the firebox, the flames jumped.

The light at the door dimmed. Cheng Banshan stood outside the threshold, nose leaning forward, wine gourd at his waist, an empty bowl in his hand.

"Who's cooking this."

"Me," Qian Duoduo said.

Cheng Banshan came in. He didn't sit. He ladled himself a bowl from the pot. The broth was thick, the grains cooked open like flowers. He stood by the stove and drank it down, set the bowl on the stove platform, and wiped his mouth.

"Better than anything from my furnace."

Then he walked toward the Medicine Hall without slowing. The fire in the stove still crackled. Qian Duoduo stood by the pot gripping his ladle, and for a long time he didn't move.