My Sect Is Down to Seven People

Chapter 73: A Petition

On the first day of the tenth month, during Dragon hour, half the window in the Accounts Room was propped open.

Xu Yan pulled out from the bottom of a chest the sheet of paper he had never touched since buying it. He had bought it months ago in case he needed to draft roster replies or notices, and it had sat pressed flat all this time, edges still crisp and even. He set it under the inkstone, mixed the last dregs of ink in the pool, and ran a fingernail along the paper's edge to settle it.

He had seen few petitions in his life, and every one of them at the Branch: March's debt notice, the tournament circular from the eighteenth of the ninth month, the name-verification sheets in the ratings register during the Autumn Evaluation. All of them began with "The petitioner" or "Now comes," then laid out item after item with no wasted words.

He followed that form.

First he wrote "The petitioner," followed by "Xu Yan, Sect Master of Qingya Sect." At the words "Sect Master" his brush paused a moment before moving on.

The second line stated the complaint. Chixiao Sect had built a weir at the spring on the ridge, channeling the water eastward, so that the spirit fields below the mountain had been without water since the twenty-second of the ninth month.

After writing it he read it over, changed "without water" to "dry," then changed it back. "Without water" came across harder. But on the twenty-second, the creek bed truly had not held a single drop. If it was hard, let it be hard.

The third section laid out the facts. He wrote slowly, setting down one sentence after another: On the twenty-fourth of the ninth month, three members of Qingya followed the creek up the ridge and found a newly built weir below the stone basin of the spring, the cut faces of the stones still white. A channel had been cut east of the weir, water spilling over it and running east; the creek bed to the west held nothing but stones. Those guarding the weir were Outer Disciples of Chixiao.

He had first written a line reading "The Qingya party was forbidden to come near the channel," then struck it out. Cao Hu had never said that. What Cao Hu had said was that if they dirtied the soil along the channel, they would have to fill it back in themselves. Below the crossed-out line he added: The men guarding the weir said the spring lay within Chixiao's boundaries.

The fourth section stated what he sought. One: rule that this water belongs to the Qingya spirit fields. Two: request the Branch to retrieve the Dongzhou Boundary Map of the First Year of the Alliance and fix the boundary according to the map.

He sat thinking for a while about whether to add another item, requesting the Branch to consider penalties. He thought for half a quarter-hour, then did not write it. Asking for penalties meant naming people, and naming people meant evidence. All he had were two things: a line written in the four boundaries, and a stone standing in place. A stone could not speak.

Finally he began a new section and copied the four boundaries. This part required no thought; he and Bai Xiaoman had checked that transcript twice, and not one word could change: East to the boundary stele on the ridge, eighteen li east of the Mountain Gate, as shown on the Dongzhou Boundary Map of the First Year of the Alliance.

He signed and dated it: Zongmeng Year 300, first day of the tenth month, then wrote his own name. He left the paper to dry beside the inkstone, the single struck-through line in the middle standing out darker, like a wrong entry blacked out in a ledger.

A sound came from the doorframe. Bai Xiaoman stood at the threshold holding a stack of daily ledgers, her toes tapping just outside the door, not entering.

"Do I bring my copy?"

"No." Xu Yan fanned his hand near the edge of the paper. "I take the original. The copy stays in the Accounts Room."

Bai Xiaoman set the ledgers down at the corner of the desk and leaned in to look at the paper. She read slowly. When she reached the two items under "What is sought," she pointed without touching the page and said, "You didn't mention the stele."

"It's in the four boundaries."

"I don't mean the four boundaries." She looked up. "The weir is below the spring. The stele stands west of the spring. If you say nothing about the stele, they'll take one look and say the water is on their land."

Xu Yan turned the paper over to let the back dry. "According to that stele as it now sits, yes."

"Then why file?"

"File," he said. "The petition is against that weir. The water is what the fields need. Where the stele stands — the map decides."

Bai Xiaoman stared at the line "as shown on the Dongzhou Boundary Map of the First Year of the Alliance" for a while. "That line on the map — it's drawn, isn't it?"

"It is."

"And a drawn thing — what if they say the brush slipped and that's a whole li off?"

"Then first they'd have to pull it out of its box." Xu Yan put the paper away under the account books. "We checked this line twice. The first time you missed a character, crumpled it yourself, and copied it over. Do you remember why?"

"Miss one character, and the whole line can't connect to that map." Bai Xiaoman looked down at her stack of ledgers. "Then I'll trace it over once and keep it with the copy."

"No need. As long as the copy's there, it'll match."

That evening he went to the Kitchen. Qian Duoduo was dumping coarse grain flour onto the cutting board, his apron dusted white. Xu Yan said they'd leave during Yin hour tomorrow, and they didn't need much for the road — two flatbreads would be enough.

Qian Duoduo's hands never stopped. "Five shichen by cart, two meals on the road, arriving in the city at Monkey hour and eating again, then more food at the inn at night. Two?" He counted on his fingers, then corrected himself. "Four. I'll grill you four, plus two extra in reserve."

"Taken from the October rations."

"There's still half a sack of coarse grain. Enough." Qian Duoduo rolled up his sleeves. "A He, get firewood. A Sui, bring down that clean cloth from the beam."

A Sui stood on tiptoe to take down the washed-out cloth from under the beam and spread it on the board. When the first flatbread came off the stove she reached for it, got burned, pulled back to rub her hand against her clothes, then reached again. Qian Duoduo caught her hand, blew on it twice, and only then set the bread down.

"Don't be stingy on the road," Qian Duoduo said. "Once it's cold it goes hard, and hard still has to be chewed."

On the second day of the tenth month, in the Yin hour, the sky was still dark when the Mountain Gate opened a crack.

Qi Qi was already standing just inside, a bundle over his shoulder, fat and heavy enough to tilt that side of him. He hoisted it up. "The flatbread's still warm."

"Let's go."

Ten li of mountain path, and by the time they reached Luoxia Town the sky was just whitening. Someone at the town gate was unloading vegetables; cart wheels cut two deep tracks through the wet mud. Outside the cart office, a mule cart was already hitched. The carter squatted on the shaft chewing dry rations. When he saw them, he set the rations on the cart bed. Xu Yan counted out four low-grade spirit stones and laid them on the office counter. "Round trip."

"It was booked as round trip on the thirtieth." The carter tucked the four stones into the cloth bag at his waist, hefted it, cinched it shut, and jumped up onto the shaft. "Hold on."

The cart rolled east out of town, the sun coming over the ridge ahead. Eighty li of official road, the stones in the middle polished bright by decades of wheels. The fields on both sides had all been harvested; low stubble stood white. Ten-odd li out, they met a line of grain carts coming the other way, sacks stacked higher than a man. The carter recognized the lead driver, flicked his whip, and they exchanged a word about autumn grain prices as the carts passed.

Qi Qi sat up front, his bundle on his knees, looking now at the fields, now at the carter's whip. After twenty-odd li, he suddenly spoke. "Sect Master, does the petition say anything about me?"

"No."

"That day on the ridge — Huo Qing and I were both there."

"It's about the weir and the water." Xu Yan said. "Not people."

Qi Qi made a small sound of understanding. After another stretch of road, he asked, "Does filing a petition cost money?"

"No."

"Once they accept it, how long before they answer?"

"Any petition entered in the register has to receive an answer," Xu Yan said. "When, depends on where it falls in the queue."

Qi Qi took out one of the flatbreads, tore off half, and handed it to the carter. The carter took it, said something agreeable, and cracked his whip in the air. After a while longer, Qi Qi said quietly, "That half-stack of firewood, one spirit stone — they've probably forgotten by now."

"The ledger hasn't."

Qi Qi said nothing more, just finished chewing the other half of the flatbread slowly.

At Horse hour they ate flatbread on the cart. It had cooled and was tough to chew. Qi Qi ate fast, cheeks bulging, then took two gulps from the water flask and wiped his mouth, saying these eighty li wore a man out worse than ten li of mountain road. At Monkey hour the cart turned off the official road and stopped at the carriage yard outside the city. Seven or eight mules stood tied there; the unharnessed ones rolled in the dust against the wall. The air smelled of fodder.

"Come tell me the first day, for the return trip," the carter said, handing down the two bundles from the cart bed.

"At Horse hour on the third," Xu Yan said.

It took nearly half a shichen to walk into the city. The gate arch was long; their feet passed into shadow for a stretch before the street appeared. The street was packed — charcoal sellers, water carriers, carts heading for the Market — shoulders brushing shoulders. Qi Qi cleared the way ahead; Xu Yan followed, one hand pressed to the spot over his chest.

At the Market, East Row Three, in the You hour.

The sun had sunk behind the tile eaves, and every stall had lit its lamps. The firewood stall was still there, steam rising from the stove. The stall owner sat on a low stool beside it, a damp cloth over his knee.

Xu Yan walked up, took a spirit stone from his chest, and set it on the counter.

"The half-stack of firewood from the second day of the eighth month."

The stall owner looked up, glanced at the stone on the counter, then at him.

"I said take it. So take it."

"The ledger marks it unpaid."

The owner didn't pick it up. He lifted the damp cloth from his knee and wiped down the counter, and after wiping he still hadn't touched the stone. He only asked, "That stove of yours — will you be setting up here at the Market again?"

"Not this year."

"A shame." The owner pinched up the stone, held it to the lamp, tucked it into his shirt, and turned to ladle a bowl of soup from the stove, setting it at the counter's edge. "Dry flatbread from the road — soak it in this."

Qi Qi already had the bowl halfway to his mouth when he glanced at Xu Yan. Xu Yan gave a nod. Qi Qi took a big gulp, hissed at the heat, and said this soup was thicker than anything they boiled on the mountain. The owner grunted. "Bones simmering all day. Add water in the morning, by noon it's already this color."

They soaked their flatbread in the soup and finished eating. They returned the bowl. The owner waved it off and poked the lamp wick a notch higher.

At the inn by the edge of the Market, only one lamp burned in the hallway. The innkeeper was bent over the counter doing his accounts. When they came in he closed the ledger. "How many nights?"

"Two," Xu Yan said. "One room."

"Second floor, east end. Two plank beds, two stones a night, settle when you leave."

The room was small: two plank beds separated by a low table, a water basin under the window. Qi Qi slung his bundle off and flopped onto the bed, saying his bones had come apart. Xu Yan opened the window a crack. From downstairs came the sounds of stalls closing up — a carrying pole knocking against flagstones, once, twice, then fading away.

He took the land deed from his inner pocket and spread it on the low table.

The place where it had been folded twice still stood proud, corners beginning to fray. He weighted one end with a teacup and smoothed his palm flat across the paper, once, then once more. The lamplight wavered over it.

He turned to the four-boundaries section. The first three boundaries all fell on the land, in the earth, along routes a person could walk. Only the eastern boundary carried that extra clause: East to the boundary stele on the ridge, eighteen li east of the Mountain Gate, as shown on the Dongzhou Boundary Map of the First Year of the Alliance.

Eighteen li — how many times had he calculated it? The number was written; a written number could be checked. The line was drawn; a drawn thing could be waved away with a single sentence. What he could hold in his hand was only the first half of that clause.

Qi Qi turned over on the other bed. "Sect Master, in the morning when the flatbread's hard, I'll soften it in hot water."

"Mm. Get up early."

Xu Yan opened his ledger to the day's page and wrote two lines by lamplight: Tenth month, second day — cart fare, four stones; firewood, one stone. Below that he added: Meals on the road — coarse flatbread brought from the mountain; no spirit stones spent.

He set the brush down. He looked again at that line on the deed, let his finger trace down the words, stop at the "as shown," then fall to the last few characters, and rest there.

That map.

He had never once seen it.