My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 57: The Three-Zhang Ring

On September 1, at the Dragon hour, the Accounts Room had half its window propped open. Wind slipped through the gap and rattled the edges of the stack of old ledgers at the corner of the desk.

Xu Yan spread a sheet of deckle-edged paper on the table, weighted it down with the inkstone, and wrote three lines from top to bottom: Roster, Rank Silver, Great Formation. Then he laid the brush sideways across the paper.

Bai Xiaoman came in carrying the old silk scroll. She set the formation manual on the corner of the desk first, then sat down and tapped a finger on the tabletop. "Which one do we start with?"

"The first one." Xu Yan dragged the wooden box over and lifted the lid.

"Ten people on the roster." She spread her hand open and counted off finger by finger. "Ran through it last night, from Jiang Wan down to Du Xiaochuan. Du Xiaochuan answered smoother than I did—'Paid. Left it on Steward Ge's desk.'"

The roster sat by his hand, brought over from the Ancestral Hall. He opened it. Ten names, stacked one under the next, none of them written well. A He's was huge, pressing against the grid lines; Huo Qing's was done with his left hand, every stroke leaning the same way. He pointed to the lower rows. "When the Rank Evaluator comes up the mountain, she'll call each person over one by one. You stand in front of her, say your name, say you're here willingly, then write it again on the paper she brings."

"Shi Po's name is traced off the stone tablet," Bai Xiaoman said.

"Then he traces it more over the next few days." Xu Yan said. "It's fine if it comes out crooked. He just has to finish it."

"When Qian Duoduo writes his name, his hand shakes. He pressed an ink blot onto the paper."

"Have him write it ten more times." Xu Yan said. "Once the hand knows it, the shaking stops."

Outside the window, someone was sweeping. The broom went stroke by stroke, scraping past the edge of the steps, then back again. Bai Xiaoman glanced up, then lowered her eyes.

"Second item." Xu Yan took the mid-grade stones from the box and lined them up on the table, one by one, fifteen in a row. Then he stacked the low-grade stones into piles of a hundred—five piles—and set the remaining eighty-eight aside separately.

Bai Xiaoman watched, counting with her fingertip as she went. "One thousand five hundred, plus five hundred eighty-eight... two thousand eighty-eight."

"Debt is two thousand one hundred." Xu Yan said. "We're short twelve."

"The September 5 market."

"Two pots, forty bowls, eighty; ten bottles of Qi-Gathering Powder, thirty. The spirit rice came in on August 30—eight already recorded. That market nets one hundred ten." He set the brush tip to the paper.

Bai Xiaoman pressed two fingers against the table, looked up. "Two thousand one hundred ninety-eight. That leaves ninety-eight after payment."

"Forget about that ninety-eight for now."

"What are we saving it for?"

"Activating the formation might cost something. We don't know yet." Xu Yan said.

Bai Xiaoman tugged the formation manual a little closer, lifted one corner, then closed it again. "I've read the second chapter twice. There are things I won't dare say until I'm standing in front of the formation."

"Third item." Xu Yan's brush tip tapped on the words Great Formation. "The formation stones are all in place. They've never been activated."

"All five are in the slots. West Metal, North Water, Center Earth are new. I repaired the cracks in the slot walls with cinnabar mixed with spirit ink, filled them flush to the rim." She spoke quickly. "I've traced the formation veins twice. They run down from halfway up the Back Mountain, then break off at the stone steps east of the Mountain Gate. No spiritual qi has passed through these veins in forty years. The soil's packed down hard. Hard as rock."

"First activation—how much can you raise?"

Bai Xiaoman pulled her hands back and folded them on her knees. "I won't give a number."

"Then give me the worst case."

"Worst case," she looked at the silk scroll on the table, "it comes up halfway, then dies."

The room went quiet. The sweeping had moved to the far side of the front courtyard.

Xu Yan lifted the brush and wrote the figures on the paper: 2,088, short 12, September 5 brings in 110. Below that, he added a line: Eight days until September 9.

"Of the three items, the first two are in our hands." He laid the brush back across the paper. "The third gives us one try. If it dies, it dies—with the Rank Evaluator standing at the foot of the Mountain Gate, watching."

Bai Xiaoman pinched the edge of the scroll. "If all three pass, that's it?"

"There's one more item at the end of a re-evaluation. The old sect master's records mention it." Xu Yan closed the wooden box. "He copied out the rules. I'll go look."

At noon, sunlight reached the threshold. He carried down those old ledgers from the shelf and arranged them by year. The one from Year 290 of the Alliance Calendar was the thinnest.

He flipped to the autumn evaluation pages. The paper had creases on the back; the writing was cramped, line pressed against line—Fang Henian's hand. The first three threshold rules were copied as neatly as account entries. Below, set apart, there were only a few lines:

"The Nine-Rank Trial: The neighboring sect sends a sparring opponent, Qi Condensation. This sect sends one registered disciple at Qi Condensation. A three-zhang ring, one incense stick. Passing means not leaving the ring and not falling."

Xu Yan copied those four sentences onto the deckle-edged paper, pausing between each.

At the foot of the page, a small line was squeezed in: "Ring drawn in the front courtyard. People filled the whole veranda."

The strokes started light and ended light. He still remembered a little of that year: a ring drawn in the middle of the front courtyard, the veranda too crowded to stand on. He'd run out from under the back eaves—small kid, only managed to squeeze half a head through the gaps between people. He never saw who stood inside the ring. What he remembered was after it ended, the lime line around the ring had been smeared shapeless by footprints.

That year, the formation only came up at one corner. The Rank Evaluator accepted it, and the ring was drawn too. Now the formation had to come up full, and the ring still had to be drawn.

He folded the sheet and tucked it into the daily ledger.

September 2, Dragon hour. Qi Qi came back, boots covered in mud, dew still hanging in his hair.

"I came down off the ridge before dawn." He gulped half a bowl of cold water first, then wiped his mouth. "That open yard outside the Chixiao outer court—two lanterns hung under the eaves, burning until almost daybreak."

"Tell me what you saw. Straight."

"Zhou Kui was training with a staff in the yard." Qi Qi set the bowl down and used his hands to measure. "Eyebrow-high, iron, both ends wrapped in iron bands. He was hitting stone posts. One hit, one hole. Stone shards flew all the way to the wall."

"How many strikes in one incense stick."

"I counted." He rattled it off like it was nothing. "Sixty-some. And he didn't slow down. The posts cracked and he kept swinging."

Xu Yan pressed the brush tip onto the paper.

"Cao Hu was under the veranda talking to people. The sparring opponent's set—it's their number one outer disciple." Qi Qi paused. "He also said one thing—'That stone-carrier from Qingya, Qi Condensation second layer. Make him stand for one incense stick.'"

No one in the room answered. Qi Qi added on his own: "Sixty strikes. I don't want to take even one of them."

"Who else was there while he trained?"

"Two outer disciples hauling posts. Zhou Kui didn't talk to anyone. When the incense stick burned down, he slammed the staff into the ground, sat, and wiped his hands." Qi Qi said. "He's not performing for anyone. He does this every day."

September 2, noon, the Main Hall. Everyone had been called together.

Xu Yan spread the deckle-edged paper on the long table and read those four sentences aloud. When he finished, he set the paper down. "Roster, Great Formation, Rank Silver—I've worked through each one over the past two days. This is the fourth item. At the end of the re-evaluation, this is all that's left."

"Foundation Establishment can't go up." Jiang Wan leaned against the table leg, sword resting outside it. "The rules say Qi Condensation."

"It can't." Xu Yan said.

"Then who." She looked at him. "He's only Qi Condensation second layer."

"I'll go." Huo Qing spoke, his voice low.

"Your left hand has one thrust and one withdrawal." Xu Yan said. "One incense stick, sixty strikes. You'd have to block sixty times without missing one. Miss one, and the stance breaks."

Huo Qing glanced down at his left wrist and tugged his sleeve lower. He said nothing.

"I'm Qi Condensation ninth layer." Shao Ming spoke slowly, each word forced out.

"Elder Cheng said you can't use your true strength."

Shao Ming paused. "If I do, the poison rises. Twenty years of training, wasted. I know."

By the door, someone lifted a wine gourd. The wine sloshed inside. Cheng Banshan pressed the stopper back down and stood. "Let's be clear before anyone gets hurt. Broken bones, I can set. The stuff below the ribs, I can't. If you send him up, I'll say it now: one incense stick later, he might still be standing, but he'll be broken inside."

"I'll go." Du Xiaochuan stepped forward half a pace.

"The bruise on your lower back hasn't faded." Xu Yan didn't look up.

"Sixty strikes." Qi Qi raised a hand by the threshold. "This one I'm not fighting anyone for."

"Du Xiaochuan took carrying-pole hits in the outer court too." Jiang Wan said.

"A carrying pole is flat. A staff is round." Xu Yan said. "A pole hits skin. A staff hits the bone underneath. This test is about still standing when it's over."

A Sui squeezed in by the doorframe and asked, "How far is three zhang?"

"I measured it when I ran." A He jumped in. "Thirty-some steps."

"Then it's not that big." A Sui said.

"Three-zhang ring, just the two of them inside." Bai Xiaoman said. "I'll draw it with lime on September 3, measuring zhang by zhang with a rope. It'll be clean."

Xu Yan wrote the name down. "Nine-Rank Trial. Qingya sends Shi Po."

"He's only Qi Condensation second layer." Jiang Wan said again.

"The test is endurance. Not winning." Xu Yan laid the brush across the paper. "One incense stick, stay in the ring, stay on your feet. Who on this mountain trains exactly that every day?"

Shi Po had been standing at the door the whole time, both hands hanging at his sides. Only then did he speak. "Enduring's enough."

"Three-zhang ring. Where do I stand." he asked.

"Center." Xu Yan said.

"If my foot slips out half a step, does that count as leaving."

"It does." Bai Xiaoman answered quickly, then thought again. "What if his heel presses on top of the line?"

"The rules only say not leaving the ring." Xu Yan said. "Heel on the line—still inside."

Shi Po shifted his feet, heels together, testing the stance, then moved them back.

"It stops when the incense burns out?" he asked.

"It stops when it burns out." Xu Yan said. "The incense burns outside the ring. You'll be able to see it."

"I'll see it." Shi Po said.

"When the staff comes at your shoulder, do you block." Jiang Wan lifted her sword from beside the table leg, still sheathed.

"No." Shi Po said. "The moment I raise a hand, the stance breaks."

"Then you take it with your body." She took a step forward. "One incense stick, sixty strikes. After the sixtieth lands, you still have to stay on your feet."

Shi Po's answer was just as short: "I'll stay on my feet."

"Standing still in the middle, the staff will push you out." Jiang Wan said. "You can move inside the ring. Only leaving counts as losing."

Shao Ming suddenly spoke: "When the staff lands, don't push your qi upward. Sink it, down to your heels." He paused. "I tested myself against opponents down the mountain. Hold your breath, and you collapse after two."

"I'll give the salve as before." Cheng Banshan said. "If you get bruised, you don't hide it."

Shi Po looked at Shao Ming and nodded.

"I'll add an extra bowl for him these next few days." Qian Duoduo stood by the door, pinching the corner of his apron.

"Add meat." Cheng Banshan said. "Extra rice doesn't build bone."

"I'll add meat for him." Qian Duoduo agreed, then added under his breath, "The meat has to go on the books."

"Put it on mine." Xu Yan said.

Shi Po remembered something. "I traced it ten times today." He held out his hand. On his index finger, there was a whitened patch of skin worn by the brush handle.

Xu Yan folded the deckle-edged paper and tucked it under the wooden box.

Jiang Wan slung the sword over her shoulder and walked toward the door. At the threshold, she put a hand on the doorframe and looked back.

"Tomorrow, Mao hour, in front of the Mountain Gate. I'll train him."