My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 30: The Bell on the Back Mountain

The iron pry bar was wrapped in burlap. Every step, a dull thud.

Cao Hu wound the cloth around two more times, the tip angled back over his shoulder. The wind was strong up on the ridge, grass blades whipping at his trouser legs, louder than the pry bar. He glanced back at the road they'd come by. The lamp at the foot of Chixiao Sect's mountain gate still burned—a single point of yellow. Once they were over this ridge, it would be gone.

Seventh month, ninth day. Dog hour.

Two Outer Disciples followed behind him. The skinny one turned to look back every other step. The tall one carried a jar of fire oil hugged to his chest, the mouth bound with three wraps of hemp cord. His arms were locked stiff, unable to relax.

"Senior Brother Cao." The skinny one caught up, voice kept low. "Steward Ge didn't say to come tonight."

"He did."

"What he said was—"

"That formation on the back mountain's in the way." Cao Hu finished the thought for him. "In the way, so it gets dealt with. He didn't say not to deal with it."

The tall one switched arms on the jar, breathing hard. "Twenty li, over a ridge, just to pry up three stones."

"Pry them loose, their formation's just a stone platform." Cao Hu said. "Set in place, it's a formation. Pry them out, it's rock. You understand that."

"And after? Tomorrow Qingya Sect takes one look—"

"Stones cracked on their own in the night. Who can say otherwise?" Cao Hu shifted the pry bar to his other shoulder. "That formation of theirs hasn't been opened in forty years. About time it cracked."

The skinny one was still looking back. "That sword cultivator on the mountain."

"Foundation Establishment." Cao Hu said. "What's she doing up on the back mountain in the middle of the night? Practicing forms?"

"And if she does come?"

"Then we run. She can chase down one. She can't chase down three."

The three of them paused on the spine of the ridge. The tall one switched the jar to his other side and asked whether they should crack the stopper and have a whiff.

"Open it when we're there." Cao Hu said. "Pop that stopper and the whole mountain reeks of oil."

He didn't mention what happened at the market. The eighteenth of the sixth month, those eighteen Spirit Stones smashed on the ground, the whole market heard the sound. The words "next time, I don't want to see Qingya in my market" had come out of his own mouth. He hadn't been to Luoxia Town in half a month, and Chixiao's Outer Disciples had been watching him behind his back. It made his chest itch.

"Steward Ge said on Autumn Evaluation day, we settle it all. Principal and interest." The skinny one said quietly.

"Autumn Evaluation is Autumn Evaluation." Cao Hu said. "This score is mine."

Wind poured down off the ridge in gusts, whipping the hems of three robes with a crackling sound. On that stretch of darkness halfway up Qingya's back slope, for the past few nights there had always been a light, burning until midnight before going out. Tonight there was none.

"Light's out." Cao Hu said.

"People?"

"Gone down." He took the pry bar off his shoulder. "Formations don't run."

The downhill path was loose gravel. Walk a stretch, the grass grew to the backs of their knees. By Hai hour, the three of them reached the vines on the half slope. Cao Hu went first, pry bar in one hand, parting the vines with the other. Someone had cut through these once before; the broken ends had dried on the stems. The stone platform was smaller than he'd imagined, the surface worn smooth, a stone disc in the center with five slots on it: a green one on the east side, a red one on the south, all of them dark.

"This is it?" The tall one set the oil jar on the ground. The base clunked against stone.

"Quiet." Cao Hu tapped the stone disc with the tip of the pry bar. "This is it. Pry these out, their formation can't be raised."

He shifted half a step forward. His heel came down on something hard, and the harder he pressed, the more it sank into the dirt.

"What?" The skinny one leaned in.

Cao Hu crouched to feel. A round little head showed through the soil, beside it a small pile of fresh earth, half trampled flat by someone's foot. He pushed it down with his sole.

"A rock."

He straightened up, worked the tip of the pry bar into the crack on the east side of the stone disc, gripped the shaft with both hands, and was just starting to apply force—

A prickle shot up the back of his skull.

He saw nothing. His eyes were still open, and in front of him was still that stone disc—then the stone tilted upward and covered his eyes. He went down with his hands still raised. The pry bar hit the ground first, a dull thud, the burlap falling loose.

The tall one had just bent down to grab the cord on the oil jar. The skinny one had just turned around.

Neither of them managed to cry out.

The half slope went quiet. Wind flipped the vine leaves over, then back again. The oil jar stood by the stone platform, stopper still in, the three wraps of hemp cord around the mouth not loosened a single turn.

The bronze bell on the outside of the West Wing's wall rang once.

A muffled chime. Short. Not crisp.

Bai Xiaoman opened her eyes. She lay still, toes curling in under the blanket, counting. The second ring never came. Wind was scattered noise—one knock, then a gap, then another. Different from the sound of air driven into packed earth. The eastern pebbles were shallow; one step and the bell rang once. The northern ones were deep; they rang three times. Only one ring: whoever came in had stepped on the east side, and stepped light.

She threw off the blanket and got out of bed, bare feet on the rammed-earth floor. Reaching the door, she didn't stop to put on shoes. She pushed it open and found Shi Po standing in the yard, pulling his sleeves down—he'd been at standing pillar training all night until Hai hour, just now settling out of it.

"Back mountain." She said. "The bell rang once."

Shi Po went into his room and came back out with the chopping knife in one hand. In the other he carried a robe, which he swung around and draped over her shoulders.

The lamp in the Accounts Room was still burning. Xu Yan sat behind the desk, ledgers spread across the surface, the brush set down on the paper but not returned to its rest. The wick had burned down to almost nothing. Beside the ledger lay that sheet with the Metal, Water, and Earth squares sketched out, and those few lines in the account book he'd stared at half the night: three Formation Stones, three hundred, leaving fifty-one after payment, forty-eight of which was one month's rice.

Bai Xiaoman ran to the door and slapped the panel. "Sect Master!"

"How many rings?" The door had barely opened and he was already asking.

"One. Muffled."

Xu Yan closed the ledger, felt in a drawer for the fire starter and slipped it into his sleeve. He didn't blow out the lamp on his way out.

Running through the Front Courtyard, the East Courtyard's door rattled. Jiang Wan stood in the doorway, hair still unbound, the sword in her hand.

"Back mountain?" She asked.

"The formation eye." Xu Yan said.

"You two go first." She stepped back through the door. "I'll put on my sword belt and catch up."

From behind the Ancestral Hall to the back mountain was two li of mountain path—two quarter-hours. Shi Po led, chopping knife in hand, feet silent. He took the steep route behind the Kitchen, shorter, all loose gravel. A rectangle of light still showed in the Medicine Hall's window to the west. Cheng Banshan hadn't turned in yet.

Bai Xiaoman ran a stretch and couldn't keep up—this layer of hers was hard-won, and running left her chest hollow. On the steep section, gravel bit into the sole of her foot and her ankle buckled. Shi Po reached back and hauled her up, never slowing.

Xu Yan was behind them, the fire starter gripped in his hand, unlit.

It was dark under the vines on the half slope. Shi Po stopped first and pointed the chopping knife into the grass.

There was a man lying in it.

Xu Yan blew the fire starter to life. The flame was small, enough to see three chi ahead: half an iron pry bar, a length of unraveled burlap.

"Three." Shi Po said.

The vines had been parted, half still hanging from the stems. The oil jar stood beside the stone platform, stopper still in. Bai Xiaoman stepped around the three bodies and crouched at the platform, running both hands over the five slots, pressing her fingers into each one.

"Not a single one disturbed." She said. "Five slots, not one loose."

She felt around the four corners. The three stones on the south, west, and north were all still set in the earth. Only the one on the east had sunk in. The soil above it bore the edge of a footprint.

"He stepped here." She lifted her hand. "The east one I buried shallow—one ring. That's what the bell rang for."

"What put them down, then." Shi Po crouched beside her.

"Nothing." Bai Xiaoman wiped her hands on her clothes. "This little formation of mine only sends one sound. It doesn't do anything else."

Grass rustled behind them. Jiang Wan came out from under the trees, sword in hand, breathing even. She looked first at the stone disc, then at the three on the ground, then walked a circuit of the slope, farther than any of the others had gone. When she came back she stood just outside the formation eye, sword tip lowered.

"Who hit them." She asked.

No one answered.

"There are three sets of footprints on this slope." She said. "They came over from the far ridge and walked straight here. There isn't a fourth."

Bai Xiaoman's hand was still on the east-side pebble. "He fell after the bell rang. From here to the West Wing—two quarter-hours. In that time, whoever came put down three men, left, and didn't even leave a footprint."

Xu Yan brought the fire starter close to the pry bar. The shaft was new, one end ground to a point. He went to the oil jar next, unwound the cords one by one, pulled the stopper and sniffed, then pressed it back in.

"Iron bar to pry. If that fails, oil and a torch." He said. "Formation Stones fear that. Burn one cracked, and the whole formation's dead in this spot. Forty years wouldn't patch it."

Jiang Wan rapped the jar twice with her scabbard. A dull slosh inside. "Full."

Shi Po crouched beside one of the men and rolled him over. With only a sliver of firelight, he still recognized him.

"Chixiao's."

Bai Xiaoman leaned over for a look and knew him too. "Cao Hu."

Jiang Wan said nothing. She set the tip of her sword against the ground, the scabbard taking her weight. After a moment she spoke, voice low. "Bringing oil onto our mountain."

Wind swept across the slope. The three men lay in the grass, none of them moving a muscle. Shi Po felt the back of each head, one by one, then looked up. "All breathing. A lump each. Skin's not broken."

"No blood." Bai Xiaoman checked Cao Hu's and held her hand up. Clean.

"Formation still usable?" Xu Yan asked.

"It is." She worked the east-side pebble out of the dirt and pressed it back in, packing it until the soil sat firm. "It was stepped in. Pop it back and it's fine."

"Carry them back." Xu Yan said.

"Where."

"The Firewood Shed."

Jiang Wan gave him a look, then bent and took one in each hand, hauling them up by the backs of their collars. Their feet dragged two trails through the grass; the blades bent flat and slowly sprang back. Shi Po hoisted Cao Hu over his shoulder, one hand on the man's leg, the other still holding the chopping knife.

Bai Xiaoman went for the pry bar and couldn't hold it—it was taller than she was. "You take the other end," Xu Yan said. The two of them carried it between them, one in front, one behind. He lifted the oil jar himself. The base was heavy; he had to switch arms every few steps.

The two-quarter-hour walk down the mountain went slowly. Only then did Bai Xiaoman notice the pain in her feet. A stone bit into a sole and she sucked in a breath, but didn't stop. Past the back wall of the Ancestral Hall, Jiang Wan dropped the two men on the ground. She didn't set them down gently.

The Firewood Shed stood beside the Kitchen: half a room of firewood, the smell of dry timber. Shi Po found two lengths of hemp rope. They bound the three men's hands behind their backs and sat them against the woodpile. Bai Xiaoman checked Cao Hu's head again, pressing a finger into the lump. Cao Hu let out a grunt in his stupor.

"Not broken." She said.

"Tomorrow." Xu Yan set the oil jar in the corner and leaned the pry bar against the doorframe.

Jiang Wan stood at the door without coming in, sword sheathed, glancing at the three against the woodpile. "Tomorrow, Dragon hour. I'll be here."

She left.

Xu Yan went back to the Accounts Room. The lamp still burned, the wick burned low. He put the fire starter back in the drawer, sat down, and turned the ledger to that page. Under the seventh day of the seventh month, two prices had been written; at the very bottom, one line: "Three stones, Linchuan," the date still blank. Under the eighth, a credit entry had been recorded.

Below the entry for the eighth, he added a new line: Seventh month, ninth day, night, back mountain formation eye. Three men came. Never touched the Formation Stones. Downed outside. One iron pry bar, one jar of fire oil, stored in the Firewood Shed.

The brush tip stopped at the corner of the page. In his mind, he asked: Who.

The ledger offered no words. Not one.

He set the brush down and opened the window a crack. Out in that darkness on the back mountain, nothing made a sound for the rest of the night.