Chapter 106: Six Bunks

On the eighteenth day of the Second Month, at the Mao hour, the Luoxia Town carriage house had only taken down half its door boards. The mule was already harnessed, standing in the open ground outside chewing a mouthful of dry hay.

The carter knocked the rear wooden bar tight, then turned and counted heads: one carrying six bundles, one with a sword across her chest, one thin as a stick, one with a handkerchief pressed to her chest, one standing silent, and the last one counting money.

"Six?"

"Six." Xu Yan spread four Low-grade Spirit Stones across his palm and placed them into the carter's hand one by one. "Round trip."

The carter weighed them, tucked them into his belt, and pointed his whip at the cart bed. "Back row three abreast, front row three abreast. Leave at the Mao hour, arrive at the Monkey hour."

Shi Po climbed up first and took the outer seat in the back row, gathering the six bundles at his feet without offering to share the space. Huo Qing sat in the middle, sword leaning against his knee. Qi Qi took the last spot, and the moment his weight came down the straw mat sank in a patch. He reached under himself and felt around. "Newer than the one last time."

"Same cart as last time." The carter cracked his whip.

"Then I misremembered." Qi Qi said.

In the front row, Jiang Wan sat on the outside, Bai Xiaoman in the middle, and Xu Yan beside the carter. When he stuffed the cloth pouch into his robes he wound his fingers around the mouth of it twice. Sixteen stones left inside; those four didn't count against it. The cart lurched forward and the dead grass along the roadside leaned backward. Today wasn't a market day, so the space beneath the third pillar by the wall stood empty, the old nail still in the pillar where it had always been.

Out of town and east onto the official road, the frozen earth in the fields hadn't thawed, and the furrows gleamed hard as glass. Bai Xiaoman pulled out the handkerchief, spread it on her knee, then wrapped it up again. "A three-zhang ring. I've drawn it on paper. East, south, west, north, center—measured one grid at a time."

"Paper and ground aren't the same." Xu Yan said.

"I know. Once we're at the martial arena, I'll look at the ground before I set down the pebbles." She tucked the handkerchief back into her robes. "Pebbles know the soil. Hard earth, soft earth—they sound different."

"You can hear the soil?" Qi Qi leaned forward from the back.

"Strike it enough times and you can hear it."

Jiang Wan shifted her sword from her chest to her lap. The blade ran a section longer than Huo Qing's, and the scabbard tip knocked against the cart board. "The mule's got its own road to walk. Don't spend the whole way talking," she said to Qi Qi.

"If I don't talk I'll fall asleep." Qi Qi said.

"Then sleep."

Qi Qi didn't sleep. He tilted his head back and watched the sky.

Past the Luoxia Town boundary the official road grew crowded with carts. First two hauling grain, then an empty cart with a canvas cover, the carters shouting to each other, all of it "heading into the city." When the third cart passed, five people sat in its bed, all in matching blue robes, and all five turned to look back at the Qingya cart.

"Which sect?" Qi Qi lowered his voice.

"Don't recognize them." Xu Yan said.

"The city's packed these days." The carter turned his head. "Every sect's heading for Linchuan. I drove a run on the sixteenth, came back empty, and the road was nothing but carts."

"How many sects have you hauled?" Qi Qi asked.

"Past half a month, seven at least." The carter paused. "Which one are you folks?"

"Qingya."

"Qingya." The carter thought about it. "I've hauled you before. Hauled you for a lawsuit, not for a contest."

"First time coming to compete." Xu Yan said.

"First time competing means no reputation to speak of." Qi Qi said it loud enough to carry.

The carter laughed once and said nothing, flicking his whip through the air.

Jiang Wan looked at the earthen slope slowly taking shape ahead. "If it's crowded, better to arrive early."

"Monkey hour, on time." The carter said.

The sun passed overhead and the riders all fell quiet. Bai Xiaoman's head sank lower and lower until it came to rest on Jiang Wan's shoulder. Jiang Wan didn't move, only shifted her sword slightly so the girl's face wouldn't knock against the scabbard. Shi Po pulled the two bottom flatbreads from his bundle and glanced at them, held them forward as if to offer, didn't get them anywhere, and stuffed them back down. Huo Qing's right hand hung at his side, motionless; his left hand had stayed on his sword sheath the entire time, five full double-hours without changing position.

At the Monkey hour the mule cart turned off the official road and stopped in an open lot outside the city wall. A fodder shed stood there, three mules tethered to posts, the stone trough drained to the bottom. The carter jumped down, took the reins, and pointed west toward the city gate. "Carts can't go in. You walk. On the day you head back, come tell me first thing and I'll save you seats."

"The twenty-third," Xu Yan said. "We'll come then."

The six climbed down and stretched their legs. Shi Po gathered the six bundles into two piles and hefted one in each hand, his shoulders sinking under the weight. Bai Xiaoman pressed the handkerchief through her robes. Qi Qi walked a few steps, then turned. "The lot drawing's at the Snake hour on the nineteenth—right at the martial arena?"

"Right at the martial arena." Xu Yan said.

Two men stood watch under the gate arch. They looked over the group and asked their business. Xu Yan said they'd come for the grand contest sign-up. The man swept his eyes across their faces and waved them through.

Shops lined both sides of the street—cloth sellers, rope sellers, pottery sellers—and one door lintel hung with an old plaque bearing a single character for "medicine." Two Red-Robed Men walked down the middle of the street, blades over their shoulders, not looking their way. Qi Qi's steps slowed half a beat, then he caught back up.

The Branch was in the east of the city: a very tall compound wall with tiles crowning it. The main gate opened onto a front courtyard; turn left just past it and there was the martial arena. Xu Yan didn't go toward the grounds. He walked along the base of the wall toward the back, where a guest house stood with its door facing south. Inside was a small courtyard with a well at its center, the stone rim of the well platform polished bright by countless feet. A lodging room stood at each end of the courtyard; the door on the west side hung open.

A clerk waited at the door holding a thin register. Xu Yan handed over the entry slip. The clerk unfolded it, checked the seal first, then read the names one by one aloud: "Jiang Wan, Huo Qing, Shi Po, Bai Xiaoman, Qi Qi." He looked up and counted heads. "Five competing, one team lead. West room, six bunks. Meals are your own affair."

"Hot water?" Xu Yan asked.

The clerk pointed with the shaft of his brush toward the corner of the courtyard. "Water stove's over there. Split your own wood, draw your own water. If you want hot water, heat it early—later and someone else will have the fire."

"When does the courtyard gate close?"

"End of the Dog hour. Once it's closed, no calling to open it." The clerk handed back the entry slip and pointed east with the brush again. "The east room was booked the same day. One courtyard, each keeps to their own room. No crossing doors after dark."

Inside the west room, six bunks stood in a row against the west wall, dry hay spread over the bed boards with a layer of coarse cloth on top. Shi Po set down his bundles and pressed a hand on one bunk: the hay was dry. Bai Xiaoman chose the innermost bunk, placed the handkerchief where a pillow would go, and touched the window paper. "Freshly pasted." Qi Qi went straight for the window and pushed—the bolt held firm, not budging after two tries. Huo Qing came in last and hung his sword on the wooden peg on the wall, hilt downward.

Jiang Wan didn't go inside. She stood in the middle of the courtyard and looked around: the wall rose two zhang high with an eave line along the top; the well platform sat slightly east of center; on the east side of the courtyard was a side gate, locked, with the arena's white lime ground visible through the gap under the door; the west door was freshly painted, the east one older.

"The Snake hour on the nineteenth—that side gate opens." Xu Yan stood beside her.

"Locked at night?"

"Locked. No one's allowed out of this courtyard."

Qi Qi lay flat against the side gate peering through for a while, then came back and squatted at the threshold. "Not a single ring drawn on the arena."

"They'll draw on the nineteenth," Xu Yan said. "Measured first, then drawn."

At dusk the six sat in a row inside the west room, each with flatbread. Xu Yan went to the water stove and heated half a pot of water. When he went to split wood, Shi Po came over without a word, took the ax from his hand, and split the small pile in three strokes—one log per swing. Xu Yan came back with six coarse bowls and set them one by one on the bed boards.

The flatbread had been baked on the seventeenth; it had gone hard and needed soaking to bite through. Shi Po ate the fastest. He finished the first sheet of his own portion, then broke the second in half and looked around the room, setting one half at the edge of Bai Xiaoman's bowl. She pushed it back. "I've got my own." Shi Po took it back and ate it.

Qi Qi ate slowly, talking between bites. "The east room's bigger than this one."

"Bigger's still six bunks—one each." Xu Yan said.

"Six of them too."

"Six bunks, nobody gets more." Xu Yan wrapped up half of his own share of flatbread again. "What's left is for the nineteenth."

At the You hour there was a sound at the courtyard gate, then footsteps—more than one pair—coming in from outside and stopping in the middle of the courtyard. The lamps weren't lit yet. In the twilight a row of crimson: six red shadows standing in a line. Ge Song led them, with Zhou Kui behind, that iron staff of his lying crosswise on his shoulder. Four more behind them—one with a blade on his back, one with his hands tucked into his sleeves, one thin, one short.

Ge Song walked to the door of the west room and looked over the row of people seated inside. "Sect Master Xu."

Xu Yan stood. "Steward Ge."

"Snake hour on the nineteenth for the lot drawing. Don't be late."

"We won't be."

Ge Song swept his eyes around the courtyard—the well platform, the east door, and finally the row of bed boards in the west room. "This room's half a bay smaller than the east one."

"Big enough to sleep." Xu Yan said.

Ge Song smiled once, turned, and headed for the east room. The rest followed. The one with the blade on his back paused as he passed the doorway, shifting the long chest on his shoulder.

Zhou Kui was the last to pass the door. He switched the iron staff to his other hand and slowed his steps. His eyes didn't go to Shi Po's face—they went to his feet. Only after looking did he raise his head.

"Ribs healed?" he asked.

"Healed." Shi Po said.

Zhou Kui nodded once, said nothing more, and carried his staff into the east room. The door shut, and a line of lamplight leaked through the crack.

Qi Qi leaned close to Xu Yan's ear. "The one with the blade is Ding Zhao. The one with tucked hands is Ma Ping."

"You know them?"

"Du Xiaochuan told me. Ding Zhao uses the blade; Ma Ping has fast hands." Qi Qi spread his own hands on his knees and closed them again. "That's all. He wouldn't say more."

Jiang Wan sat on the edge of her bunk, sword across her knees, still sheathed. "Six of them. Five competing, one team lead."

"Same as us." Xu Yan said.

"Their room's bigger though." Jiang Wan said.

A guest-house attendant came through with lamps, hanging one at the east end and one at the west. Xu Yan borrowed a light and lit the west one. He took out the cloth pouch, counted the sixteen stones by lamplight, then took out the pocket ledger he carried and turned to the last page, adding a line: the eighteenth day of the Second Month—round-trip carriage fare, four stones. Paid. He set down the brush, closed the ledger, and tucked it back into his robes.

At the end of the Dog hour the attendant went to the courtyard gate and slid the crossbar into place from outside; wood met wood with a thud. Two lamps burned in the courtyard, and nobody went near the well between them. By the east door, at the base of the wall, stood that iron staff. The iron ring gleamed in the lamplight, bright enough to hurt the eyes. The flame didn't stir, and that circle of light didn't stir either.

Shi Po stood in front of his bunk, not sitting down. He stared across the courtyard at that staff for a long time, his shoulders level the whole while, his feet planted the same way. Bai Xiaoman called to him from inside; he answered, but didn't move. Later he reached down, pulled back the coarse cloth, and lay down, both hands at his sides, his face still turned toward the door.

Xu Yan blew out the lamp.

In the darkness, Qi Qi turned over. "Sect Master, for the lot drawing on the nineteenth—should I stand behind you?"

"Stand beside me." Xu Yan said.