My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 63: The Seventh Stack

"Halfway up the Back Mountain slope." Bai Xiaoman came out from under the west veranda, walked over to the square table, and stopped. "Two li of mountain path. Two quarter-hours to walk it."

Wen Su looked at the remaining pallor on her face. "How many stones on the Formation Eye."

"Five. Metal west, Wood east, Water north, Fire south, Earth center."

"Who activated them."

"I did."

"With the full formation raised, how long can it hold."

"The Formation Manual says once the veins have been nourished, it can hold for one two-hour period." Bai Xiaoman's fingers pinched at the hem of her skirt. "The nourishment was on the fifth. No spirit stones going in today."

"How long to bring the Formation down."

"Three breaths. The Formation Light will retreat, but it won't retreat clean." She spoke the truth plainly. "If it doesn't retreat clean, that means it wasn't fully raised."

Wen Su set her brush down on the Ratings Register. "One clerk goes up with you, stands where he can see the Formation Plate. No talking, no touching." She turned her head. "You."

The clerk carrying the register handed it to the other, tucked his brush into his sleeve, and moved into position a half-step behind Bai Xiaoman.

Cheng Banshan came over from the Medicine Hall holding a small porcelain vial, pressed it into Bai Xiaoman's palm. "When you took the Formation down on the fifth, your nose bled. Today, if your hand so much as shakes, you bring it down."

"I can hold it."

"I asked if your hand shakes." Cheng Banshan said. "Not whether you can hold it."

Bai Xiaoman tucked the vial into her sleeve, turned, and walked toward the Mountain Gate. Shi Po fell in behind her without a word.

Xu Yan handed the roster in his hands to A He. "Carry it back to the Ancestral Hall and put it in the wooden box under the offering table." A He took it in both hands, clutched it to his chest, and half-ran off, glancing back once even as he crossed the threshold.

The clerk pulled a small bronze incense holder from the cloth bag on his back, crouched on the top step of the Mountain Gate, and set four incense sticks into it in a row, smoothing the bases until they stood straight. He produced a fire starter and held it, waiting.

On the Back Mountain slope, five points of light came alive. Each sat separate in its own stone trough, then they linked into a single thread and traveled down the slope. When the light reached the roof ridge of the Ancestral Hall, it stopped there, resting on the tile ridges, refusing to descend farther.

Everyone in the Front Courtyard watched that light.

"It's stopped there." Someone under the eaves spoke.

Shao Ming pressed his hand against the earth beside him and held it a moment. "The veins have to pause at the ridge to shift breath. Once it shifts, it'll come down."

The light lingered on the ridge for about two full breaths, then moved down again. It crossed the ridge, settled over the Front Courtyard, and spread into a thin pale-green layer, reaching all the way to the bottom step of the Mountain Gate. Where feet pressed on it, the soles met a faint resistance, like stepping on flagstones rinsed with dew.

Only then did Wen Su reach out, take the fire starter from the clerk, strike it, and light the first stick. A red point glowed at the tip, and smoke climbed straight, leaning south. She blew out the flame. "One stick, two quarter-hours. When it burns out, light the next. Four sticks, one two-hour period."

No one in the courtyard answered.

Under the eaves, someone shifted back half a step. Cao Hu glanced up, then lowered his head to stare at the brick in front of his feet. Over by the gate arch, Zhou Kui straightened the iron staff leaning against the wall. Outside the Mountain Gate, Nie Bo's broom reached the edge of the light, paused, and then went around it, sweeping outside the light's edge, the broom rasping over the stone.

Jiang Wan came out from under the east veranda, walked to the center of the courtyard, and stood there looking up at the Back Mountain, her sword held against her chest.

The first incense stick burned to its base, and the first segment of ash dropped. The clerk lit the second.

When the second stick had burned halfway, at the eave corner of the Ancestral Hall, the light dimmed.

In that moment of dimming, no one under the eaves made a sound. Xu Yan's fingers tightened inside his sleeve. Beneath the west veranda, the spot where Bai Xiaoman had stood was empty.

"The veins sank." Shao Ming's voice was low. "Someone up there is reinforcing it."

The light trembled twice at the eave corner, then flared back, brighter than before by two degrees. The row of tiles on the Ancestral Hall lit up, the moss in the tile grooves showing in thin, vivid lines.

Not long after the third stick was lit, Wen Su rose from the table and walked toward the Mountain Gate. She did not hurry; her soles sounded step by step on the stone, across the Front Courtyard, through that pale-green light, until she stopped at the threshold.

She raised her right hand, palm outward, and pushed against the light.

The light rippled outward from her palm, one ring chasing another across all four sides, out to the base of the walls, then flowing back around them. As it returned, fine patterns rose across its surface, lines layering over lines, settling after a moment into calm.

The light was still the same light—covering the Mountain Gate, covering the Ancestral Hall, covering the people in the courtyard.

A long, drawn-out "Oh" came from under the eaves, followed by a few low words. Lu Shoutian pulled his hands out of his sleeves and pressed them against his lapels.

"Forty years since it's been fully raised." A rogue cultivator spoke. "I heard my master speak of it when I was young. That time, only one corner came up."

Wen Su withdrew her hand and stood a while, studying the edges of the light, before returning to her table.

The head of the fourth stick curled over and went out. Ash settled beside the bronze holder, small piles of it, the breeze scattering a layer each time it passed.

"Formation, passed." Wen Su said.

The clerk's brush moved across the Ratings Register.

The light on the Back Mountain began to retreat. First the layer outside the Mountain Gate, then the Front Courtyard, then the Ancestral Hall, layer by layer retreating back up to the slope, where it vanished. The daylight in the courtyard suddenly seemed brighter, and the moss on the roof tiles looked older by contrast.

Shi Po came down the dirt path from the Back Mountain, Bai Xiaoman on his back. One of her hands gripped the cloth at his shoulder; the other still clutched the little porcelain vial.

Her face was white, and a streak of blood ran from the corner of her mouth to her chin, half-wiped by someone, but not cleanly.

Cheng Banshan met them, taking her wrist, three fingers pressed to her pulse. "Who told you to push it to the very end."

"I filled the full duration."

"The medicine?"

Bai Xiaoman raised the vial slightly. "Once it opened, I took the Formation down."

Cheng Banshan swore, snatched the vial from her hand, and stuffed it into his belt pouch. "Don't talk. Shi Po, set her on the Medicine Hall veranda, sitting."

Shi Po placed her by a pillar at the Medicine Hall door, and Cheng Banshan crouched down, one hand working at her sleeve, then swore half a curse about only having one hand and called over his shoulder: "Du Xiaochuan, bring my needle case."

"The Formation, passed." Bai Xiaoman said again, her voice thin.

"I know." Cheng Banshan said. "Shut your mouth."

Shi Po pressed both hands against his trousers, then walked back to the center of the Front Courtyard. Qi Qi and Shao Ming had already carried a square table out from the Kitchen and set it three paces in front of Wen Su's table. One leg was short; Qi Qi crouched, pulled out the tile shard wedged under it, switched in a thicker piece, pushed down, and the table steadied.

Xu Yan came out of the Accounts Room, both arms wrapped around the cloth sack. He walked to the table, untied the mouth, and laid the contents out one by one.

Fourteen mid-grade stones in a single row, one finger-width between each. Low-grade stones in stacks, seven stacks of one hundred in a line. The seventh stack stood a section shorter—ninety-eight stones, set neatly, its top edge sloping.

He stepped back half a pace.

"A He." he said.

A He ran over from the threshold, clutching a low-grade Spirit Stone, his knuckles white around it. He went to the table and set the stone at the very top of the seventh stack, placing it square; his hand paused halfway to his side, then completed the withdrawal.

"A Sui."

A Sui walked over, reached behind her neck with both hands, untied the red cord, took off the small cloth pouch, and tipped it over. A Spirit Stone dropped into her palm with a thunk. She wadded the empty pouch, tucked it back into her clothes, went to the table, and set her stone on top of A He's.

The seventh stack was complete.

She did not leave. She stood a moment, looking at that stack, then stepped back to her brother's side, their shoulders touching.

"Count." Wen Su said.

The clerk handed the Ratings Register to the other one, went to the table, bent over, and counted the mid-grade stones one by one, calling each number aloud. At one thousand four hundred, he straightened and caught his breath. Then he counted the low-grade: stack by stack—six stacks, six hundred; the seventh stack from beginning to end: one hundred.

"Two thousand one hundred stones." He announced.

"Count again." Wen Su said.

The clerk counted again. This time no numbers aloud, his finger moving across the table, lips twitching once per stone. When he finished, he pressed his hands against his sides and looked up. "Two thousand one hundred stones."

"Steward Ge." Wen Su said.

Ge Song went to the table. He examined the mid-grade stones one by one—picked them up, weighed them in his hand, held them to the sunlight and watched the light travel through them, then set each one back as square as before. The fourteen stones took him considerable time. Everyone under the eaves waited; no one hurried him.

"All hundred-grade." He said.

"All hundred-grade." Xu Yan said.

Under the veranda, Qi Qi muttered, "He even brought a chest." A rogue cultivator nearby snorted.

"The document." Wen Su said.

Ge Song drew the document from inside his clothes, broke the seals at both ends, and unrolled it on the table. The clerk took the other copy from the wooden box and unrolled it too, pressing it beside the original—the numbers on both pages matched.

The clerk offered the brush. Wen Su dipped it in ink and wrote two characters at the end of the original, pressing hard: "Paid in Full." She dipped again and wrote the same on the file copy. When she finished, the whole courtyard stood waiting for her to speak. She set the brush down and stamped each document once with a seal—small, the red paste pressed full—then pressed two fingers over each impression.

"Steward Ge." She turned the brush around.

Ge Song accepted it, his fingers pausing on the shaft. He bent and wrote "Received in Full" on the line at the bottom of the original—slowly, every stroke restrained. When he finished, he set the brush on the table and straightened.

Wen Su drew a piece of paper from the very bottom of the wooden box.

It had been folded three times; the creases were deep, the paper thicker than the document, brittle at the edges. She unfolded it halfway, looked, then flattened it out and turned it to face the courtyard. The writing and seals on it were all there, the seal being that of the Branch.

Xu Yan pulled a narrow slip from the account book, walked over, and placed it in her hand.

Wen Su compared the slip against the number on the Land Deed. They matched. She folded the slip, placed it in the wooden box, and closed the lid.

"The land deed has come back. The pledge slip is canceled." She said. "Twenty years held at the Branch. Returning it to you. Rank Silver, passed."

She slid the deed across.

Xu Yan took it in both hands. The paper was lighter than he had expected. He folded it once, then again, smoothed a crease at one corner, and tucked it into the account book between two pages, closing it.

Cao Hu carried a wooden chest over from the gate arch. It was fir wood, iron-capped at all four corners, with two bronze clasps on the lid. He set the chest on the table, opened the lid, and began with the mid-grade stones, laying them in one by one to form a single layer on the bottom. Then he took the low-grade stacks, stacking them into the chest one by one; when he came to the seventh, he held it in his hands a beat longer before setting it in.

A Sui's eyes never left his hands.

The chest was packed full. Cao Hu closed the lid, pressing the two bronze clasps down one at a time.

The lid shut with a dull report.

Under the veranda, Qian Duoduo stood with both hands gripping his apron. At that sound, his shoulders jerked. He raised one hand to cover his mouth, leaning toward the pillar. Tears fell between his fingers and landed on his apron, blotting a small damp patch.

A He ran over and tugged at the hem of his clothes, twice.

"What are you crying for." Cheng Banshan said from the Medicine Hall door, one hand still on Bai Xiaoman's wrist. "The pot's still on the stove."

Qian Duoduo nodded, his face still covered.

Wen Su stood by the table, looking out at the open ground before the Mountain Gate. The lime-painted circles there had been re-traced that morning, then scuffed by the people going up the mountain, several gaps worn through, though the lines were still visible.

"Nine-Rank Trial." She said.

Over by the gate arch, Zhou Kui lifted the iron staff from the wall and took it in his hand.