My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 51: Three Names Out of the Kitchen

Qian Duoduo circled three times outside the Accounts Room door.

The first time, his shadow swept over the threshold; the second, it came back. The third loop he never finished. He stopped by the door, raised a hand and knocked twice on the frame, then pulled it back and wiped it on his apron.

"Come in," Xu Yan said.

Qian Duoduo stepped in and stood before the desk. A single lamp burned on it, the account book lay open, and the brush rested at the edge of the paper.

"Sect Master, I've thought it through."

Xu Yan set the brush down.

"I'm scared," Qian Duoduo said. "Last market, when Cao Hu flipped our stall, I was crouched behind the pot with my legs gone weak. Being a disciple means standing out in front of people. And when I'm out in front of people, I can't get a word out. Me, I'm just a cook."

He swallowed.

"But I'm willing."

The lamp wick popped.

"Which weighs more?" Xu Yan asked.

"What?"

"The fear, or the willingness."

Qian Duoduo lowered his head and thought. He thought for a long time, long enough that ink from Xu Yan's brush tip bled a small dot into the paper.

"The willingness weighs more." He raised his head. "The fear passes after a while. The willingness stays."

"Tomorrow, Snake hour, Ancestral Hall," Xu Yan said. "Come with A He and A Sui."

"Together?" Qian Duoduo rubbed his hands. "I'm so much older than them."

"The roster doesn't say who's older than who."

"On the day of the Autumn Evaluation, will the Rank Evaluator question us one by one?"

"He'll ask."

"Ask what?"

"He'll ask your name, ask if you came of your own will." Xu Yan moved the brush aside. "When he asks you, answer honestly."

Qian Duoduo stood thinking for a moment. "Then I can answer."

He reached the door, then turned back. "Sect Master, if I become a disciple, who washes the pots?"

"You."

"It was always me before too."

"Now you're a disciple, and it's still you." Xu Yan said. "At Mao hour, recite the formula. You still cook."

"That works." Qian Duoduo left as if afraid he might change his mind, his footsteps clamoring across the Front Courtyard, out around to the kitchen on the west side.

Xu Yan wrote a line in the account book: August 19, Qian Duoduo, agreed. He looked at it after writing, then moved the line to the very bottom of the page, keeping it separate from the other entries.

The market fell on August 20. Sky still half dark, Qian Duoduo already had both pots shouldered on a pole.

By the time they reached town, people were already moving through the market. Qingya's pots went in their usual spot on the open ground by the road at the town's edge. Shi Po set the stove stones, Qi Qi crouched blowing on the fire, Qian Duoduo ladled water. Someone came out of the market and stood in front of the pots.

Lu Shoutian. He held an iron pry bar for lifting door boards, looked at the pots, then at the two carrying poles.

"Move it further in," he said.

Qian Duoduo set his ladle down. "Chief Lu..."

"Follow me in." Lu Shoutian turned and walked into the market, glancing back after two steps. "Don't set your pots in the middle of the road."

The stall was beneath the third pillar along the wall inside the market. Above it hung a stretch of old tiled eave; the stall board was two old door panels pieced together, smooth to the touch. Qian Duoduo set the pots on it and ran his hand over the surface, once, then again.

"This stall sat empty for over a month," Lu Shoutian said. "Today it's yours."

"Why?" Qi Qi blurted.

"Chixiao got caught selling spoiled Spirit Meals in the Linchuan City market. They've been judged." Lu Shoutian tucked the pry bar into his belt. "The whole town's talking about it. Last time, someone had a word with me about not giving you a stall. Now that their own faces are covered in dirt, that word no longer holds."

He paused, then added, "A stall is a stall, and rules are rules. If you knock someone over, Qingya pays."

"Noted," Xu Yan said.

Lu Shoutian glanced at the pot, produced two Spirit Stones from his sleeve, and set them on the corner of the stall board. "One bowl."

"Chief Lu, this..."

"I'm buying a meal. I gave you the stall, and I'm buying a meal too." He took the bowl to the wall under the eaves and crouched there, eating slowly, his spoon scraping the bottom loudly.

Once the pots moved into the market, business actually slowed for the first half-hour. People who usually came straight to the roadside spot still looked toward the open ground when they reached the market entrance; seeing it empty, they stuck their heads in searching. A rope-carrying porter came looking, saying he'd bought from them outside for two months, and when the pots were missing he thought Qingya had stopped coming again.

Both pots were scraped clean before noon. The ten bottles of Qi-Gathering Powder sold out as well; the last two went to a Rogue Cultivator from Linchuan City, who said the town price was a bargain. Qi Qi crouched under the eaves collecting bowls, stacking them into two piles, counting each pile, then looked up when finished. "Those two under the locust tree," he said. "They didn't come today."

Xu Yan glanced toward the market entrance. The space under the locust tree was empty, only a pear-selling load resting there.

The old flatbread seller brought his bowl over to the eaves and crouched beside Lu Shoutian. He took a sip before speaking. "Last time I said I'd come back after autumn to see how you were doing. It's not even the Autumn Evaluation yet, and here I am."

"Where are the flatbreads?" Xu Yan asked.

"All sold." The old man tapped his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl. "Today I'm not selling bread. I came to eat a Spirit Meal. Your meals are doing better than my bread."

When it was time to pack up, Shi Po lifted the pot down with one hand and with the other laid the two door panels flat against the wall. Qian Duoduo wiped each bowl dry and stacked them, pausing halfway through. "Sect Master," he asked, "on the day of the Autumn Evaluation, will I also have to stand in front of people?"

"You will," Xu Yan said. "Stand next to me."

"I might not be able to speak, but I'll stand."

"Standing is enough."

That night in the Accounts Room, he made the entry: August 20, Income: two pots, 80; ten bottles of Qi-Gathering Powder, 30. Expenditure: two pots of Spirit Rice, 8. Balance: 1,956.

On the 21st, at Snake hour, the threshold of the Ancestral Hall had been swept twice, and three incense sticks burned in the bronze burner on the offering table. The roster was taken from the wooden box beneath the offering table and spread open on the long table; ink was ground in the small inkstone, the brush laid along its rim.

People came in one by one. Cheng Banshan leaned against the doorframe. Shi Po stood in the corner. Bai Xiaoman stood by the table with her arms crossed. Huo Qing leaned against a pillar under the eaves outside. Qi Qi squatted beyond the threshold until Bai Xiaoman hauled him in by the collar. Shao Ming stood last, hands hanging at his sides. Jiang Wan stood under the eaves with her sword cradled, coming in no further, leaving not at all.

The twins crowded in front of the table.

"Me first," A He said.

"Me first," A Sui said.

"I'm the older one."

A Sui looked at him, took half a step back. "Fine. You first." She added, "Write it big, but don't go outside the box."

Xu Yan turned the roster to the page, pointing to the space beneath Shao Ming's name.

"Three kowtows," Cheng Banshan said from the doorway. "To the Founding Patriarch, to the past Sect Masters, then bow to the Sect Master."

A He kowtowed, down and up three times, knocking loudly on the floor. He rose and turned, bowing to Xu Yan.

"Speak," Xu Yan said.

"I willingly join Qingya."

He stepped back to the table, gripped the brush with both hands. The moment it touched the page, half a character filled half its box. He finished and passed the brush over, leaning in close to inspect his writing, looking twice, the corners of his mouth pressing down then curling up. He turned back. "Does this count?"

"It counts," Xu Yan said.

In the thin account book before his eyes, on its roster page, the same name fell into place at the same moment.

It was A Sui's turn. Her kowtows were measured, her knocks quiet. She too rose and bowed to Xu Yan. After saying the line, she reached to the small cloth pouch hanging at her neck and gave it a squeeze, then turned to A He and said, "The Old Sect Master gave it to me at New Year. Still here."

"Mm." A He also touched his own chest.

She wrote slowly, stroke by stroke, the characters small and neat, sitting precisely within the box. When she finished, she straightened the brush twice against the rim of the inkstone before setting it down, and as she stepped back she glanced once more at that box.

Qi Qi watched from beyond the threshold and said, "My hand shook too when I wrote mine."

"It still shakes now," Bai Xiaoman said.

"It's different now."

"Your turn," A He said, looking back.

Qian Duoduo did not move.

"My sleeves," he said.

He rolled both sleeves up to his elbows, stepped forward, and performed the three kowtows slowly. When he rose from the last, his knee cracked. He turned and bent his waist deeply toward Xu Yan.

"I willingly join Qingya." The voice was not loud, but everyone in the room heard it.

He gripped the brush. His hand trembled; the tip touched the paper with a dot and stopped. He drew a breath and wrote from the first stroke down, laboring, sweat beading on his forehead. He set the brush down, stepped back half a pace, and let out a long breath.

A line settled into the account book:

[Balance: 9 Registered Disciples.]

Xu Yan did not move. He watched the line steady itself on the page.

Cheng Banshan looked the three of them over from head to toe, then straightened up from the doorframe. "From now on, no one calls you servants."

"What do we call them?" A He asked.

"Call them by their names," Cheng Banshan said.

Shao Ming, behind, studied the three new names in the roster. "All three are bigger than mine."

Jiang Wan spoke from under the eaves. "Qian Duoduo."

"Here." Qian Duoduo straightened at once.

"Breakfast tomorrow, make one more pot."

"Nobody new came to the mountain..."

"We have more disciples." Jiang Wan turned and left, her sword sheath tapping the threshold as she passed through the door.

Qian Duoduo stood at the table for a long moment before remembering to roll his sleeves back down.

A He chased after Xu Yan with a question: "Do disciples live in the West Wing?"

"The West Wing is full."

"Then where do we live?"

"Behind the kitchen, same as before."

A He thought it over. "Even better. Closer to the pots." A Sui nodded beside him, her bobbing quick.

Out of the Ancestral Hall, Cheng Banshan called the twins over.

He drew from his chest a paper folded twice over and held it tightly. The edges were yellowed, and the writing on it, in his own hand, slanted line by line toward the upper right corner.

"Come here."

The two crowded in. He sat down on the steps, laid the paper on his knee, and parted it halfway with a finger. "Breathing formula. Every day at Mao hour, recite it to me."

"And once we've memorized it?" A He asked.

"Once you've memorized it, then I teach you breathing." Cheng Banshan said. "There aren't many characters on here. How many do you know?"

"I know about half."

"I know fewer," A Sui said.

"Then I'll read, and you repeat." Cheng Banshan pressed the paper against his knee and pointed at the first character. "Qi—"

"Qi."

"Sinks—"

"Sinks."

"To the dantian."

"To the dantian."

A He recited quickly, one phrase following the next, nodding to himself when finished. Cheng Banshan pressed the paper down half an inch. "What's the rush. One word, one breath. The breath follows the word. You recite like someone's chasing you from behind, the qi goes chaotic. And if the qi goes chaotic, it goes astray down below. Wherever it goes astray, that's where it hurts."

"Does it hurt badly?"

"Go astray once, and I'll be rubbing medicine on you for three days." Cheng Banshan said. "So slow down."

A He recited again, very slowly, so slowly he was pulling his mouth askew. A Sui followed along beside him.

When he finished, A He threw out: "Where is the dantian?"

Cheng Banshan pressed on his own lower belly. "Inside here, below the navel. When you recite, keep your mind on it. Don't use brute force."

"When do we recite?"

"Mao hour. Not one day missed." Cheng Banshan folded the paper on his knee and pressed it into A He's hand. "You hold it. You crumple this paper, and I'll make you copy it over."

"How many times?"

"Until it doesn't crumple."

The two of them headed west, still reciting as they reached the corner of the Front Courtyard—one saying "Qi sinks to the dantian," the other echoing, and as they recited they burst into laughter and ran off toward the kitchen.

Xu Yan returned the roster to the wooden box and slid the box back under the offering table. Back in the Accounts Room, he turned to the page with the roster copy and ran his finger down: Jiang Wan, Shi Po, Bai Xiaoman, Huo Qing, Qi Qi, Shao Ming, A He, A Sui, Qian Duoduo.

Nine.

He took the brush from the brush rest and left a blank space beneath the ninth name, letting the tip hover over that space for a while before setting it back down.

One short. The Double Ninth was next month. The roster clause would not pass with one person missing. If Ge Song meant to use the roster against him, this empty space was exactly what he would leave.