My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 275: An Hour Is Still an Hour

On the twenty-first day, at the Mao hour, the charcoal stove outside the Medicine Hall was lit again.

The packet of alchemy materials had been bought at the market on the twentieth, wrapped in oiled paper and stored under the front eaves. Cheng Banshan untied the paper with one hand, tipping the contents into the stove mouth item by item. When he finished, he took the furnace hook and leveled the materials, then put the stove lid back on. He squatted down, peered in through the stove door, and raised the door by one notch.

"Seven nights," he said.

"Seven nights." Du Xiaochuan stood beside him, repeating the words.

"If the fire dies down, stoke it yourself. Don't wait for someone to tell you."

"I won't wait to be told."

At lantern-lighting, Du Xiaochuan carried his bedding roll from the West Wing to the outer room of the Medicine Hall and spread it out on the plank bed. He patted both ends, lay down to test it, then got up and moved the charcoal basket to a spot within arm's reach of his feet. Cheng Banshan lifted the curtain from the inner room and glanced out; the curtain fell back.

Before dawn on the twenty-second day, Qian Duoduo pushed open the kitchen door, and the door pivot creaked. The first snow of the Eleventh Month, on the twenty-second day, was falling outside.

The stone steps were hidden, the bundles of firewood under the kitchen's rear eaves wore caps of white, and the water vat lid had a layer of snow. He stood at the doorway without moving, reached his hand out, and caught a few flakes. They melted quickly. The fire under the pot was still banked; A He squatted by the stove mouth and looked up at him. "Snowing?"

"It's snowing," Qian Duoduo said. "Don't let the fire go out."

A He ran to the door to look, and A Sui followed. The two of them squatted under the eaves, reaching their hands out to catch the snow. When their palms were full, they opened them to look—flake by flake, they vanished. The door to the East Room opened a crack and two children's heads squeezed together. One ran out without shoes on, squatted beside A Sui, and caught a handful, held it up to look, and made a soft sound. His mother called him from the doorway, but he wouldn't go back. When he was pulled inside, he kept looking back.

The child who had coughed through the night leaned against the doorframe, standing inside. His mother half-closed the door, leaving a crack. He watched the snow through that crack.

At the Mao hour, Jiang Wan practiced her sword in the East Courtyard. Her blade swept through the snow, sending up a spray that landed on her shoulders and melted. Xu Yan stood in the front courtyard for a while, looking at the window paper of the two Main Hall rooms—both were lit.

The snow stopped by noon. The front courtyard was white, the cracks between the blue stones filled level. Over by the Mountain Gate, Nie Bo's broom kept scraping. The path he swept revealed a dark line, a string of footprints leading out from the gate and down to the bottom of the stone steps. In the afternoon, Shi Po and Huo Qing pushed the front courtyard snow to either side, clearing a path; A He and A Sui followed behind with brooms. The children up the mountain had grabbed a broom too, sweeping haphazardly. A Sui went behind them and swept again, not the least bit annoyed.

At the Shen hour, footsteps sounded below the Mountain Gate.

Six people. Their clothes were all one color, washed so many times they were pale. Muddy water was frozen around their pant legs, and their shoes were soaked. The middle-aged man in front climbed the stone steps, his face red from the cold, and clasped his fist. "Sang Jun, Apricot Flat Gate."

Xu Yan stepped out from the threshold. "Sect Head Sang."

"Sect Master Xu of Qingya." Sang Jun gestured behind him. "I've brought five disciples."

The five behind him stood in a row. The last one carried a rolled-up mat on his back; the one next to him held by hand a pot with a chipped rim. The pot rattled hollowly, and the one carrying it clamped down on it to stop the noise.

"Where have you come from?" Xu Yan asked.

"North of the Pass. Apricot Flat Gate, Ninth Rank, our mountain gate is north of the pass." Sang Jun coughed. "The Beast Tide hit us."

"When?"

"Half a month ago," Sang Jun said. "There were demons on the main road, so we went around. From our mountain gate to the pass took six days."

"How are things beyond the pass now?"

"Empty," Sang Jun said. "The demons are all in the northern mountains. On the days we came down, there wasn't a single person outside the pass."

"Nowhere to stay in town?"

"The inns are full, and so is the back courtyard of the grain shop. People are squatting under the eaves," Sang Jun said. "Someone told me Qingya Mountain is taking people in."

Xu Yan looked at the six of them, then turned. "Jiang Wan. Elder Cheng."

Jiang Wan came over from the veranda, still holding her sword tassel in her hand. Cheng Banshan came from the direction of the Medicine Hall, one hand carrying his wine gourd. He stopped in front of them and looked at their feet first.

"Shoes off first," he said. "Anyone with frostbite goes straight to the Medicine Hall. Wait any longer and the flesh dies."

Sang Jun clasped his fist to him. "Elder Cheng."

"Fellow Daoist Jiang." He clasped his fist to Jiang Wan as well.

"Qi Qi," Xu Yan said. "Take them to the Old Storehouse. There are bricks stacked against the east wall—don't step on them. Spread dry hay inside."

Qi Qi acknowledged and led the six of them toward the back. As Sang Jun entered the Old Storehouse, he glanced at the base of the east wall. The bricks were stacked neatly, old mud wedged in the cracks. He didn't ask.

By late Shen hour, the dry hay was spread. One Apricot Flat Gate disciple's shoes wouldn't come off—they were frozen to his feet. Cheng Banshan soaked them in warm water, one incense stick at a time, until the leather softened and he could peel them off. The toes were white, bloodless white. Xiao Ling grabbed a handful of dried grass leaves from a wooden box and boiled them in a clay jar. The water came out brown, and she carried it over for him to soak in.

"This foot can't touch the ground for three days," Cheng Banshan said.

The disciple nodded, saying nothing. Xiao Ling carried the foot-soak water out and poured it away. The leaves left at the bottom of the jar she kept, spreading them on a corner of the table to dry.

At lantern-lighting, food was distributed at the kitchen door.

Qian Duoduo ladled and counted as he went: thirteen bowls from the Main Hall, eight from the East Room, five from the West Wing, four from the Firewood Shed, six from the Old Storehouse. When he reached the six for the Old Storehouse, he tapped his ladle twice on the rim of the pot and added half a dipper of water. There was one more bowl to be brought to the Low Hut by the Mountain Gate; A Sui scrambled to take it.

The six from Apricot Flat Gate lined up at the kitchen door. Sang Jun didn't take his bowl first. Only after all five disciples were holding theirs did he reach for his own.

After lantern-lighting, the Qingya people sat in the middle room of the Main Hall. Bowls had been cleared, and what remained on the table was a pot of hot water. Sang Jun came over from the Old Storehouse and stood at the doorway. "Sect Master Xu."

"Sit and talk," Xu Yan said.

Sang Jun sat on the stool by the door, only half his weight on it, hands pressed on his knees.

"The Apricot Flat Gate's formation—when it was activated, it held for an hour," he said. "The one who activated it was my third disciple, at Qi Condensation. He held on until late in the day, then his hands went slack and he collapsed. The moment the formation fell, the demons came in."

"The people?" Jiang Wan asked.

"Carried away, went east," Sang Jun said. "The rest scattered east too. I brought five out."

Xu Yan said nothing.

"The firewood up the mountain—we'll cut our own," Sang Jun added. "The food—"

"Eat first," Xu Yan said. "I'll keep the account."

Cheng Banshan set his wine gourd on the corner of the table. "A Ninth Rank formation holding for an hour—no shame in that."

"Failing to hold the mountain gate is a shame," Sang Jun said.

"The formation stones?" Xu Yan asked.

"Left inside the gate. We didn't take a single one out."

Bai Xiaoman sat on a small stool by the door, a pebble between her fingers. Her thumb rubbed the stone's surface twice, stopped, then started circling again after a moment. She said nothing, and no one looked at her.

The people dispersed. Sang Jun returned to the Old Storehouse. Jiang Wan and Xiao Ling headed for the East Courtyard.

Xu Yan picked up a lantern and walked toward the Accounts Room. Bai Xiaoman followed, stopping at the Accounts Room door.

"Sect Master."

Xu Yan turned.

"If I activate our formation, it'll be an hour too," she said.

The lantern lit her hand. The pebble had already been tucked into her sleeve.

"I know," Xu Yan said.

Bai Xiaoman nodded and turned back toward the West Wing.

The twenty-third day, Mao hour—the first day after the snow.

Cheng Banshan carried a back basket, and Xiao Ling carried one too. The two of them went out behind the Medicine Hall, past the Old Herb Garden, and up the West Gully to the North Slope. Three li of mountain path took them three quarter-hours. The snow on the North Slope was deeper than at the Mountain Gate—each step sank to the ankle, and the shaded patch was deeper still. Xiao Ling was short; every step she had to pull her foot free.

When they reached the shaded area, Cheng Banshan set down his basket and used the toe of his shoe to brush aside a patch of snow.

A few tufts poked up through the snow's surface, leaves flat against the ground, gray-green, a white line along the underside. The tips that pierced the snow were stiff.

"They're up," Xiao Ling crouched down.

"They're up," Cheng Banshan untied the herb hoe from his waist. "Dig. One plant at a time."

She brushed the snow aside first, felt for the soil around the roots, and loosened it bit by bit. Only when the root tendrils were exposed did she pinch the section flat against the ground and slowly draw it upward. The plant came out, roots trailing soil, not a single tendril broken. She held it up to show him.

"Put it in the basket, roots all one way," Cheng Banshan said.

She dug the second plant. Cheng Banshan worked beside her with his one hand, the herb hoe lifting only a small clod of soil each time. He shook the dirt off and put the grass in his basket. On the third plant, her hand tightened and a tendril snapped in the soil.

"Broken ones don't count," Cheng Banshan said.

In Alliance Year 300, on this same slope, he'd said the same words to Du Xiaochuan. This time he didn't explain further. He took the broken plant from her and tossed it onto the snow off to the side.

"I do only keep the unbroken ones," Xiao Ling said.

"Mm."

"What does it pair with?"

"With the few things in the Old Herb Garden," Cheng Banshan said. "On its own, it won't hold."

In the Medicine Hall that day, Du Xiaochuan tended the charcoal stove. He kept the outer door shut, raised the stove door one notch, and sat by the edge of the plank bed watching the line of flame, adding a piece of charcoal every so often.

Qi Qi followed them to the North Slope, stood and watched her dig two plants, said "I'll go up and take a look," and climbed toward the North Slope shoulder. His steps landed lightly on the snow, one after another, and when he reached the ridge line, his figure disappeared.

At the end of the Si hour, he came back alone and stood at the Accounts Room door, patting his pant legs first.

"Beyond the pass it's all white. Nothing out there," he said. "Snow comes up to here." He patted twice more.

Xu Yan nodded. The pass-guarding order said to report to the clerk only when the Beast Tide was seen outside the pass. Nothing beyond the pass meant he didn't need to go down the mountain.

"Those two on the slope?"

"Still digging," Qi Qi said. "One basket's not full."

At the Wei hour, Cheng Banshan and Xiao Ling returned from behind the Medicine Hall, both of their pant legs wet to the knees.

Xiao Ling set her back basket on the table in the outer room of the Medicine Hall, spread out a sheet of oiled paper, and took out the Frost Bone Grass one plant at a time, laying it flat, roots all one direction. Halfway through she stopped, picked out a plant with more mud on its roots, crumbled the mud off, and put it back.

Cheng Banshan leaned against the doorframe watching her lay them out.

"How many days will this much last?" Xu Yan came in from outside.

"Depends on their coughs," Cheng Banshan said. "When the coughing stops, it's enough."

At lantern-lighting, Xu Yan sat for a while in the Accounts Room. The iron box was in the shadows, hemp rope wound around it. He didn't untie it.

He blew out the lamp and stood at the doorway.

In the West Wing, the lamp was still lit in Bai Xiaoman's room.