My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 259: A Line of Red Above the Cliff

On the eleventh, Shi Po was splitting firewood under the back eaves of the kitchen.

The wood had been cut on the West Slope back in the Ninth Month and left to dry for a month, until fine cracks ran through the grain. When the axe came down, the wood split clean along the cracks with a dull sound. There was one knotted piece that wouldn't split on the first swing—the axe bit stuck fast, and he had to lift axe and log together and bang them against the chopping block before it broke apart. The two children crouched by the woodpile, stacking the split pieces. Halfway through, A Sui insisted on pulling out one crooked stick and restacking it.

"Leave it crooked," A He said.

"Then it'll fall."

"If it falls, you won't be the one picking it up."

Shi Po tucked the axe into his belt, pressed one hand down on the woodpile, and the crooked piece slid into place. A Sui clapped. A He said that didn't count. Qian Duoduo came out the kitchen door, his apron dusted with coarse-grain flour. He looked at the woodpile, then at the back eaves, and said there was enough wood here to last a while—better to clear the space so people could pass.

In the front courtyard, Bai Xiaoman laid out five stones one by one. East, south, west, north—four of them, forming a ring about a zhang across. She crouched outside the circle and studied it for a long time. Shi Po came past carrying an armload of firewood, stepped one foot into the circle, and stopped.

"Get out," Bai Xiaoman said.

Shi Po stepped back out and walked around it. Xu Yan came out of the Accounts Room and stood under the eaves watching her set the ring. He asked if all five stones were seated properly.

"The east one's too shallow," Bai Xiaoman said. "Shallow by half a breath. A strong wind and it'll wobble."

"Push it in deeper."

"If I push it deeper, I won't be able to pull it out again. I chiseled each of those stones myself. If one breaks, I won't have another as good next time."

As she spoke, she tucked the loose thread at the mouth of her cloth pouch back inside and crouched down again. Xu Yan stood watching for a while, said nothing, and went back into the Accounts Room.

The wooden target on the veranda stood empty. Huo Qing had been practicing that single thrust there since before dawn—thrust, withdraw, thrust again, each motion spaced exactly the same as the last—until the sun came up. A thin frost had settled on the rim of the crater at the bullseye; now the sunlight caught it, melting it into a small ring of water. The sound of the sword from the East Courtyard had started before first light, dense at times and sparse at others, and had stopped around the Mao hour. Jiang Wan came out the courtyard gate, her hair pulled back tight, her face still carrying warmth. She walked all the way to the Medicine Hall door and checked the furnace.

The charcoal stove outside the Medicine Hall door was covered, a thin wisp of white steam escaping from the edge of the lid. Du Xiaochuan sat dozing on the edge of the plank bed in the outer room, his head bobbing, a lump of charcoal still clutched in his hand. Cheng Banshan sat on the low stool by the stove, one hand working the furnace hook at the coals near the stove door.

Xu Yan came in and lifted the straw curtain against the back wall of the Medicine Hall to check the charcoal: one full load stacked inside, the curtain corner pinned down by a stone; half a load by the stove, already used down by a section.

"Enough," Cheng Banshan said without turning around. "Seven days. One furnace. Don't come count it twice a day."

"Once," Xu Yan said, pressing the stone back onto the curtain corner.

"Once is also plenty."

Du Xiaochuan woke and wiped his face. "From lighting the fire to now, I've added coal once. Two lumps."

"I know," Cheng Banshan said. "While you were dozing, I was at the stove."

Du Xiaochuan put the lump of charcoal in his hand into the basket by the stove, his ears red to the neck. He crouched down and pulled the stove door open a finger's width, checked the bed of fire at the bottom, and pushed it shut again, very lightly—the iron ring on the door didn't make a sound.

Jiang Wan stood at the doorway. "Did you put matting under the plank bed?"

"Two layers of straw mat," Du Xiaochuan said.

"The eighteenth," Cheng Banshan said. "Uncover the lid at the Chen hour on the eighteenth. The ingredients for the fifteenth's batch of Qi-Gathering Powder are all prepared. Don't let them get damp—put them on the top shelf of the rack."

"I'll remember," Xu Yan said.

"Just remember."

Jiang Wan turned to leave, then added at the doorway: "Don't watch the stove door until it goes out."

Cheng Banshan grunted and tapped the furnace hook twice against the stove door.

On the twelfth, still nothing else happened on the mountain. Qian Duoduo soaked the coarse grain in the kitchen and said today they'd mix in a handful of spirit rice, so the day didn't feel too thin. A Sui crouched at the door counting bowls. She stopped at the seventh and asked if she could go into town for the market on the fifteenth. Qian Duoduo said the stall would be out on the fifteenth, but two pots of spirit meals sold out as soon as they reached town—she'd just be crouching at the base of a pillar watching people. A Sui said watching people was fine.

That afternoon, Shao Ming sat below the stone steps in front of the Ancestral Hall, drilling the two children on their formulas. A Sui stalled halfway through, her eyes darting upward. A He quietly fed her the first word.

"Let her think it through herself," Shao Ming said.

A Sui bit her lip and thought for a while, then picked it up again, reciting faster and faster. When she finished, she looked back at A He. A He tucked his hands into his sleeves.

Shi Po covered the woodpile behind the kitchen with a straw mat and weighed the four corners down with stones. The wind came from the north, lifting one corner of the mat and dropping it again. At the Shen hour, Qi Qi came back from the West Slope with a bundle of dead branches under his arm. He stopped at the gate archway and said to Nie Bo, "The wind's up." Nie Bo didn't stop sweeping—he pushed the layer of leaves on the steps down toward the slope.

At lamp-lighting time, Qian Duoduo was serving the evening meal in the kitchen. A Sui came out the kitchen door with a bowl and headed toward the Mountain Gate. She had just reached the middle of the front courtyard when her feet stopped.

"The north is red."

Her voice wasn't loud, and at first no one in the courtyard caught it. Qian Duoduo leaned half out the kitchen door. "What?"

A Sui lifted her chin and tilted it toward the north. The bowl in her hands stayed level—the soup didn't ripple.

One by one, people came out into the front courtyard. Beyond the ridge of the building behind the Ancestral Hall, the cliff was a black line in the dark, running across behind the rooftops. Above that black line lay a swath of dark red, pressing down against the sky. It didn't flicker, didn't smoke, and showed no edge.

Qian Duoduo forgot to set down the wooden ladle in his hand; his arm hung at his side. Bai Xiaoman came out of the West Wing and squinted up at it. "Fire has smoke."

"Smoke can only be seen where there's light," Shao Ming said.

"Smoke can be red too," Bai Xiaoman said.

Huo Qing stepped out from the veranda and stood by a pillar, right arm hanging, left hand empty. Shi Po came out last, standing behind the others. He set the half-split piece of firewood in his hand down on the step edge. A He took a step forward, then thought of something, turned back, and drew A Sui behind him.

"Is there a fire in the north?" A Sui asked.

No one answered.

The sweeping sound at the Mountain Gate paused for a moment, then started up again after a while, going from the gate archway all the way down to the bottom of the steps.

Jiang Wan came over from the East Courtyard, climbed the steps, and stood there looking north. She stood very straight, her sword not in her hand. The front courtyard was so quiet you could hear the bottom of the pot bubble in the kitchen. Qian Duoduo switched the ladle to his other hand, then switched it back a moment later.

She watched for a long time. That dark red didn't move. It didn't brighten and didn't fade—just pressed there, pinning the whole Back Mountain down under darkness. The wind came from the north, crossed the front courtyard, and blew the old garment still hanging on the veranda flat against the pillar. No one went to tend to it.

"The food's in the pot," Qian Duoduo said quietly. "Should I bring it in or not?"

Jiang Wan didn't turn around, and she didn't answer him.

Xu Yan came out of the Accounts Room and stood under the eaves.

Cheng Banshan stood at the other end of the veranda, wine gourd in hand, his thumb on the stopper—the stopper not pulled. He looked north as well. After a while, he said: "In the Sect Alliance's records, the one three hundred years ago also came down from the north."

With that, he turned and went back inside. The straw curtain over the Medicine Hall door swayed twice where it fell, then stilled.

Xu Yan stood motionless, one hand hanging at his side—he didn't reach toward his chest, and he didn't walk toward the Mountain Gate. That dark red from the north cast a very faint color across the faces of the children standing in front. He said nothing in response.

"Everyone inside," he said. "The food's getting cold."

Qian Duoduo answered first, setting the ladle down inside the kitchen door. One by one, they turned back toward the Main Hall: Bai Xiaoman looked back every two steps, Shao Ming behind her; Huo Qing and Shi Po brought up the rear; A He stood at the Main Hall door waiting for A Sui. Xu Yan stayed under the eaves until Jiang Wan came down from the steps last, and then he followed her in.

In the Main Hall, Qian Duoduo had laid out chopsticks—thirteen pairs. A Sui first carried her bowl to the low hut by the Mountain Gate and set it on the threshold, then ran back before sitting down. Twelve people at the table: coarse-grain rice, one pot of vegetable soup, a few specks of oil floating on top. Shao Ming got up and closed the north window of the Main Hall, latched it, and said, "Strong wind."

No one at the table mentioned the north. A Sui opened her mouth twice; the second time, A He grabbed her sleeve under the table, and she shut her mouth and bent over her food. Qian Duoduo ladled half a spoonful more into her bowl. The soup soaked into the rice; the bowl's rim burned her hands, so A Sui held it with both palms and ate. When she finished, she showed the bottom of her bowl to Qian Duoduo.

"This rice is good today," Shi Po said.

"I mixed in a handful of spirit rice," Qian Duoduo said. "Just one handful. No more. Everything in the jar has to be counted."

"At the fifteenth market, should I keep the Market ledger or should the Sect Master?" Bai Xiaoman asked.

"I'll keep it," Xu Yan said. "You guard the formation stone pages."

"Those pages were copied out long ago."

"Then check them against the original again. Copied accounts grow clearer the more you cross-check them."

A He asked Shao Ming what the line after "Qi enters through the nose, exits through the mouth" meant. Shao Ming told him to memorize the earlier part first—once the earlier part was solid, the later part would make sense on its own. Du Xiaochuan said he'd tend the furnace twice more tonight; no one was to do it for him. Cheng Banshan said the person who could do it for him hadn't been born yet.

"Tonight, keep the kitchen fire banked, not sealed shut," Shao Ming told Du Xiaochuan.

"Banked," Du Xiaochuan said.

Huo Qing ate quickly, set his bowl down first, laid his chopsticks flat, and sat there without leaving. Shi Po finished and served himself another bowl; on his way back, he carried the half-split firewood from the step edge into the kitchen.

When the meal broke up, Jiang Wan stacked the bowls together, stood, and headed for the East Courtyard. At the door she said, "Bolt it."

"Bolted," Qi Qi answered.

In the Accounts Room, Xu Yan spread the ledger open. The last line on the Tenth Month page was the daily record from the tenth's market; below it was still blank. He ran his finger over the entries from the thirtieth of the Ninth Month through the tenth: charcoal, alchemy materials, rations—all three matched up. The lamp wick had burned short; he trimmed it and sat there without writing. The sect ledger was in his robe, but he didn't open it.

Later, he went out and stood on the front courtyard steps. Qi Qi was sitting on the bottom step, hugging his knees, looking north.

"Still red," Qi Qi said.

"Mm," Xu Yan said. "Tomorrow morning, go up the West Slope and check whether there's still firewood."

"Enough."

Xu Yan said nothing more, turned and went back in, and turned the lamp down one notch.

Before dawn on the thirteenth, the veranda sounded again.

Huo Qing's thrust came back, went out again, his left foot following half a step forward. He looked up toward the north: that line was still red, paler than at night, but still pressing above the cliff. The sword came back, thrust out again. The bit of water in the wooden target's bullseye was carried out by the blade's edge and splashed onto the blue stone beside the target.

The East Courtyard gate creaked. Jiang Wan stood in the doorway, also gazing north. "Don't loosen your grip when you withdraw the sword," she said, then turned and went back inside.

Day broke, and that line faded into the gray of the sky until it was the same color as any other cloud.