My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 277: The Formation Extension Chart

After Bai Xiaoman left, the Accounts Room door hadn't been pulled shut. Wind slipped through the crack and bent the lamp flame twice. Xu Yan reached over and shifted the lamp half an inch deeper onto the desk.

He sat down behind the desk, reached into his robes, took out the ledger, and laid it open on the surface.

The paper was yellowed, the edges curled and frayed. In the lamplight, not a single character showed.

"In the storehouse," he said, "is there a formation chart for extending the Sect-Protecting Formation after it's been raised?"

One line resolved on the paper first:

[Debit: Heritage 5 points, Storehouse: Formation Extension Chart, one page, Old Storehouse East Wall Hidden Cavity, fourth compartment, recorded under Bai Xiaoman's name.]

Beneath it, another line:

[Balance: Heritage 39 points.]

Xu Yan studied the two lines. Forty-four points minus five left thirty-nine; the arithmetic was sound. He pressed his palm to the paper, and the heat of his hand flattened it against the desk.

The first compartment held the Vajra Pillar, the second the Five Elements Formation Manual, the third the formation hand diagram. All in the hidden cavity of the Old Storehouse's east wall, each compartment farther north than the last. The points spent the first three times were all recorded, stroke by stroke, in the ledger.

"There is one," he said.

Jiang Wan took a step closer to the desk and watched him.

"Mm." Xu Yan closed the ledger and tucked it back into his robes.

"When do you want to get it."

"Now." He stood. "Wait here. If Xiaoman comes by, tell her to wait."

"She went back to the West Wing."

"I know. I'll call for her on my way past."

Jiang Wan didn't ask further. She nudged the wick, and the flame stood up straight.

The sound of water still came from the direction of the kitchen. Xu Yan left the Accounts Room and went around the east end of the front courtyard. The snow had half melted; the flagstones were white in one place and black in another, soft underfoot, mud clinging when he lifted his feet. The kitchen door stood open, heat rolling out. The stove platform was covered with upside-down bowls, one packed against the next.

Against the kitchen's base wall lay a small iron awl, point driven down into the mud, the handle wrapped in old cloth so worn it no longer showed its original color. He crouched, pulled the awl free, and wiped it twice on his trouser leg.

A He poked his head out the door. "Sect Master going out?"

"To the Old Storehouse, to fetch something."

"Want me to bring a lamp?"

"No. Finish arranging the bowls, then go back to the West Wing and sleep."

A He acknowledged and ducked back inside, returning to his bowls. Xu Yan walked west, lamp in hand. Light showed through the window paper of the third room in the West Wing: a figure hunched at the desk, things spread across it. He stopped beneath the window and tapped twice on the lattice with his knuckle.

"Xiaoman. Come to the Accounts Room."

A reply from inside, and the lamplight shifted. He didn't wait for her to come out. Lantern raised, he headed behind the Accounts Room.

The Old Storehouse sat behind it, door half-open, a single lamp burning dim and yellow inside. The roof leaked in two places; the spots where daylight showed through by day were two patches of deeper black at night. Straw was spread all the way to the doorway. The five Apricot Flat Gate disciples had their bedding laid out in a row: the two farther in were already lying down, arms over their eyes; the three near the door sat up—one rubbing frost cracks on his hands, two murmuring to each other.

Sang Jun sat on the straw by the door, a back basket on his knees, mending a broken basket rope. When he saw the light in the doorway, he tucked the rope end away first and stood. The three disciples near the door fell silent and looked over together.

"Sect Master Xu."

"Sect Head Sang, I'm here to take something out of the wall," Xu Yan said. "Left by the Founding Patriarch, inside the wall."

"Which wall?"

"The east wall."

"I'll hold the lamp for you." Sang Jun lifted the lamp from the ground and raised it to shoulder height. "Need a hand?"

"No. Just hold it. The things in the wall have to be felt out by hand. Wrong touch and I'll end up prying them loose and breaking them."

"Mm." Sang Jun pushed the wick a little higher, and the light fell on the east wall in a pale circle.

Along the base of the east wall ran a row of bricks, stacked into three piles. The first pile had the thickest dust on top. The three piles were from the first three times the wall had been pried open—one pile each time, stacked evenly, untouched by anyone since. Xu Yan set his lamp on the stone floor by his feet and crouched, running his fingers over each of the three brick piles one by one, then shifted half a step north and braced his knee against the wall.

He tapped the wall with the point of the iron awl, bit by bit, listening after each tap, moving an inch north each time. The first several taps rang crisp—solid brick beneath the lime. Then he struck a spot where the sound came dull, not crisp. He tapped twice more. Still dull.

"Here," he said.

The awl point went into the brick seam. Dry soil sifted down first. He turned the awl handle; the brick shifted and came partway out, then stuck. A little more prying and it slid free. He set it by his foot. The second came faster. When the third came out, an earthy smell rose from the hole, cool and damp.

Four bricks in all. The opening was only the width of a palm.

A layer of old paper still covered the wall inside. It crumbled at a touch, shreds mixing with the dust. He lifted the back of his hand and wiped his nose.

One hand braced against the wall, he reached the other inside. The cavity was packed with dry grass; he pulled it out by the fistful, dust puffing into his face. Beneath the grass lay oilcloth, rolled into a cylinder, bound round with hemp thread. The thread end was tucked in deepest; it took two loops to work it loose.

He drew the roll out. The oilcloth was thick with dust; when he pinched it, gray fell through his fingers. The cloth itself was still supple, not rotted. He turned the roll under the lamp: no writing outside, no seal—only a few shallow grooves where the hemp had bitten in.

He reached back into the hole, feeling along the base of the wall to its end. Only packed earth. Nothing else.

He stacked the bricks beside the other three piles, making a fourth. The fresh pile, its bricks still carrying damp soil, showed darker than the other three. He rubbed the oilcloth roll twice against his sleeve and slipped it into his robes, against the ledger. Through the cloth he could feel the hard edge of the rolled page inside.

Sang Jun had held the lamp without moving, wrist steady, eyes fixed only on the patch of wall the light touched. He made no move to look into the hole. Only when Xu Yan had tucked the bundle away did he set the lamp back down.

"Next time you need to fetch something, call me," he said.

"All right." Xu Yan stopped at the door. "Sect Head Sang, someone's on watch at the Medicine Hall tonight. If anything urgent comes up in here, get A He—he sleeps in the West Wing."

"Noted," Sang Jun said.

One of the Apricot Flat Gate disciples rolled over on the straw, turning his face inward. No one asked anything.

Lantern in hand, Xu Yan returned to the Accounts Room. Two coughs came from the Medicine Hall, one after the other, then more after a pause. The lamp in the Accounts Room still burned. Jiang Wan sat by the desk, a ledger open on her knee, not a single page turned.

Bai Xiaoman was already there, standing by the desk, hands tucked into her sleeves. When she saw him come in, she looked first at his chest, then at his face.

Xu Yan placed the oilcloth on the desk, unwound the hemp, and opened it layer by layer. Inside was indeed a page of silk, rolled into a tube. The silk was yellowed, one corner stiff with a hard patch where it had once been damp and dried. He spread it open on the desk bit by bit; halfway, the silk curled back on itself. He tried twice, same result.

"Let me," Bai Xiaoman said.

She wiped her hands on the front of her robe, took over, and smoothed the silk outward with both hands. It was stiff; even at the edges she had to press with her fingertips to make it lie flat. Jiang Wan moved the inkstone over to weigh down the top corner and held down a lower corner with her hand; Bai Xiaoman's other hand pinned the last corner.

The lamp was shifted to the center of the desk.

The page showed a circle, and inside the circle five small squares, laid out like five petals: one facing east, one west, one south, one north, and one just above center. In the very middle was a shallow depression, and in the depression sat a square object, thick lines traced along its four edges. Outside the circle crowded several lines of small characters, smaller even than the writing in the ledger.

Bai Xiaoman bent down, bringing her face close to the lamp, reading line by line. Her finger traced beneath the small characters as she went. After each line, her lips moved once, and she went back to the start of the line to read it again. The wick popped; she didn't look up. Xu Yan didn't rush her.

"It's a formation plate," she said. "Five slots, same as what I saw at the Formation Eye. The center depression is shallower than all five slots."

"What's that block in the depression?" Jiang Wan asked.

"The chart shows it placed inside, meaning a person has to press it in afterward," Bai Xiaoman said. "It's not a formation stone."

She adjusted the silk corner slightly and leaned in again. One spot had been soaked, half the writing blurred. She brought her eyes nearly to the silk itself.

"Here it says the person who raises the formation holds it for one full shichen," she said. "After holding it, press one block into the center—when pressed, it should be soft. Once it softens, it collapses and soaks into the stone face."

"What about the person pressing it?" Jiang Wan asked.

"No Five-Element requirement." Bai Xiaoman looked up, meeting Jiang Wan's eyes. "Anyone can press it."

Xu Yan stood on the other side of the desk. "When does it get pressed?"

"Once the formation's lit, I hold my shichen." She said. "After that, when the formation light thins, press a block into the center. One block, one more shichen."

"And you're still the one raising it."

"Yes. Someone always has to hold the formation." She smoothed a curling corner. "Once it's up, anyone can press—the person pressing doesn't need all five elements."

"You hold it for one shichen. Will you be able to get down?" Jiang Wan asked.

"I can. After that, someone else goes up to press."

"Who presses?" Jiang Wan asked.

Bai Xiaoman thought for a while.

"Teach Xiaochuan. He tends the charcoal furnace at night and has free time in the day." She said. "Elder Cheng could do it too."

"Elder Cheng has only one hand."

"Pressing means laying the palm flat and pushing down, waiting for it to soften. One hand is enough." She added, "The formation stones in the five slots don't move. The hand presses only the center depression. Touch a formation stone and the formation breaks."

Xu Yan pressed the ledger deeper against his chest before speaking. "You keep this page."

"I'll keep it."

"After the pressing—what about the spirit stone?"

"Same as the one from the fifth day of the Ninth Month, Alliance Year 300," Bai Xiaoman said. "The edges soften first, then it collapses, spreads into a thin sheet, soaks into the stone face. Gone."

"And after one's used up?"

"Press another." She pointed to the square object on the chart. "The chart shows them pressed one after another. There's only one depression; when one's pressed in, it levels out with the stone. The next softens on top of it."

"How long does one last."

"One shichen."

Jiang Wan withdrew her hand and touched the square object with a single finger. "A hundred low-grade stones, for one shichen."

Silence in the Accounts Room for a moment. Wind came in again; the corner of the silk no one was holding lifted slightly. Bai Xiaoman pressed it down.

More coughing from the Medicine Hall, longer this time.

Bai Xiaoman lowered her head and read the final line of small characters from start to finish, then back again from the end. Her fingernail drew lightly across the silk and stopped at one place, motionless.

She looked up.

"It has to be mid-grade."

Xu Yan glanced at the cash box beneath the ledger rack. "Everything in the box is low-grade."