Chapter 127: A Bowl of Clear Water

Wen Su stepped into the ring, her shoe scuffing the lime line.

The dirt at the center of the ring had been trampled into chaos. The northern section had caved in where Huo Qing's last stomp had landed. Zhou Kui still lay on the ground, his red robes filmed with dust, his right hand open, fingers spread and refusing to close. Blood from the back of his wrist had soaked into the soil, turning it dark. The iron staff was no longer in the ring.

He was panting. Fast, shallow breaths—only after each one did his chest slowly sink. His eyes were open, staring at the sky.

Wen Su stopped beside him and turned toward the judging stand. "Clear water. One bowl."

The clerk managing the ratings register handed the book to the person beside him, climbed down from the side of the judging stand, and ladled water from a porcelain jar at the back. The water swayed in the bowl, settling a half-finger below the rim. He carried it to Wen Su's side, both hands not daring to let go.

Wen Su reached into her sleeve and withdrew a silver needle. The needle was thin, its body darkened with age, but as she drew it out, a line of light ran down its length in the sun. She crouched, lifted Zhou Kui's right hand from the dirt, turned it over, and pinched the pad of his index finger with her nail. The needle's tip barely touched.

A single drop of blood fell into the bowl.

At first the bottom of the bowl reddened in a small patch. The red stayed where it was, then spread outward in rings, ring after ring toward the bowl's edge, until the entire bowl of water had turned crimson—pale, but unmistakable. The color sank into the water and did not fade.

Zhou Kui's lips moved. No sound came out.

The arena went so quiet that the sound of ash falling from the bronze incense holder was audible. After a while, a section of the east viewing stand rose to its feet—but once standing, they had nothing to say. They just stood there. Someone behind them asked in a low voice what kind of drug it was; the person beside him shook his head. He couldn't say.

Wen Su straightened her back, the bowl still in her hands.

Ge Song walked over from the Chixiao bench and stopped outside the lime line. "Rank Evaluator, the ring judge has already inspected him."

"The rules state: when the chief evaluator sees cause for doubt on the field, she may personally inspect. The chief evaluator's findings take precedence." Wen Su's eyes were still on the bowl. "It says here: confirmed taken."

She raised the bowl higher, her voice carrying to the far end of the stands. "Chixiao's Zhou Kui consumed a spirit-surging elixir. This round: ruled a loss. Chixiao Sect: ranking struck from the record. Filed."

The clerk waited for her to finish before setting his brush down. He wrote slowly, and when he was done, he flipped back through the register and added a line after the earlier verdicts. Wen Su spoke again. "Copy this entry separately. Enter it into the file records."

The water was poured into a porcelain jar. The mouth was covered with cloth and tied with cord. Wen Su wiped the silver needle twice on the cloth and tucked it back into her sleeve. The jar was placed in the clerk's arms.

The section of the stands that had been loudest earlier now had nothing to say. A rogue cultivator on the west-side steps, sitting with his knees drawn up, set his handful of melon seed shells down by his feet and cracked not a single one more. Someone on the east side stood to speak, but the person beside him grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back down. An old rogue cultivator in the front row muttered, "No wonder that staff strike hit harder than back in Alliance Year 300." The person next to him tugged at his arm, and he fell silent.

Ge Song stood where he was without another word. He tucked his hanging hand back into his sleeve, stepped back half a pace, and retreated to the far end of the bench.

"Ring judge." Wen Su turned.

Meng Ting walked up from the edge of the ring. His steps were as they always were. He stopped in front of Wen Su.

"When you pressed his wrist—what did you feel?"

"Steady pulse. Normal complexion."

"His neck?"

Meng Ting didn't answer. The incense stick at the ring's edge had long gone out. The ash had collapsed over the lip of the bronze holder. A puff of wind lifted a small drift of it onto his shoe. He didn't brush it off.

Wen Su didn't ask again.

That was when Xu Yan stood.

He walked from the combatants' bench to the ring's edge, not fast, and stopped outside the lime line. "Rank Evaluator, at Mao hour I had nothing to say. Now I do."

Wen Su looked at him.

"At Mao hour I went to the market office to request a personal inspection by the chief evaluator. Without proof, I said nothing." Xu Yan's voice was level. "The drug has been proven now. So now I can speak."

"On the seventh day of the Second Month, at Dog hour, a Qingya disciple named Qi Qi was in that alley on the east side of the city—the one where the Branch stewards live. He saw Chixiao's Cao Hu carrying a box into Steward Meng's house. The box was wrapped in cloth. He couldn't see what was inside."

He paused. "At the window, he heard two lines." He stopped there, leaving the words for someone else to say.

"Qi Qi." Wen Su's voice rang out.

Qi Qi stood and walked to Xu Yan's side. He glanced at Xu Yan first, then spoke, repeating the words from that night exactly: "The final-round lots—the Sect wants Qingya." He paused, then added, "The body inspection—please have Steward Meng go easy."

"I was standing beneath the window. I never entered the courtyard." He added this. "On the morning of the eighth, he came out the alley gate and I got another look. I'm certain of the face."

Meng Ting's expression did not change. He only let his hands fall to his sides. "Rank Evaluator, this is an empty accusation."

"Which is why it will be recorded, pending investigation." Wen Su said. "Meng Ting, as of today you are removed as ring judge. Once the investigation is complete, it will be entered into the file records."

The clerk drew a circle around Meng Ting's name in the register. Meng Ting stood there a moment, then cupped his hands, stepped back, and withdrew to the far side of the ring, coming to stand behind the other three ring judges. None of those three moved to make room for him.

The section of the stands that had risen earlier sat back down. On the Chixiao bench, Ma Ping's hand stayed pressed to his knee. Yi Tuo stared down at his own shoes. Ge Song stood at one corner of the bench and said nothing on Meng Ting's behalf.

Xu Yan turned and walked back. As he passed his own bench, Huo Qing raised his head. Shi Po shifted to make space. Bai Xiaoman still clutched a roll of white cloth, her knuckles white from the grip.

"Meng Ting took goods from Chixiao." Xu Yan said. "I've known since the ninth."

Huo Qing didn't ask. He set his left hand on his knee. The gash at the web of his hand gaped open, the blood dried into a black line. Shi Po wiped his hand on his pant leg and said nothing. Bai Xiaoman looked down at Huo Qing's hand and wound the cloth back half a turn.

The Chixiao side began to move. Ding Zhao laid the iron staff across his shoulder, one arm under Zhou Kui's side. Ma Ping took the other side. The two of them carried him out. Zhou Kui's feet dragged through the dirt, scraping across the lime line, kicking up a trail of dust. His right hand hung limp, still seeping blood. Ge Song waited by the bench for them to pass, then turned and led the Chixiao people out of the martial arena. He said not one word. He did not look back.

People in the stands craned toward the arena gate, watching to see if the Chixiao group had really gone.

On the west stand, Jiang Wan had watched from the moment Wen Su crouched down to the moment she raised the bowl. Only after the verdict came down did she lean back against the pillar behind her and draw her sword in closer to her chest.

At Horse hour, the sun reached the center of the arena, bleaching the trial circle's lime line white. The Branch people hauled in two buckets of water and sprinkled it in a ring outside the circle, pressing down the trampled footprints. The dust settled, and the air became bearable again.

Cloud Terrace Sect versus Azure Brook Sect. The other three ring judges performed the inspections one by one: wrist out, press the wrist, check the face, check the neck, say "pass." Same procedure as before—just a bit slower than Meng Ting had done it. Incense was lit in the ring, burned through, lit again. The people in the stands watched with less tension now; conversation picked up. Someone shifted position on the steps.

The five from Qingya sat on the combatants' bench and watched. Up in the stands, Jiang Wan watched the two fighters' feet—whoever's foot moved first would be forced out of the ring.

Bai Xiaoman pulled Huo Qing's left hand over onto her lap, took the roll of white cloth from her sleeve, bit the end to tear it, and wound it around the web of his hand—two passes. On the third pass she paused. When she pressed the cloth down, red seeped up from beneath, line by line.

"Say if it hurts."

"Tie it tight."

She made another pass, tucked the end in, and looked up at him. "Gripped like this, the sword won't slip."

Huo Qing opened his left hand, then closed it. When he closed it, the five fingers moved in the wrong order. He saw it himself. He laid the sword—sheath and all—across his knees and didn't try again.

Another round in the ring came to an end. Eventually Wen Su said from the judging stand: "Cloud Terrace Sect wins."

Sounds rose from the stands, but nothing like excitement. The Cloud Terrace people withdrew to their bench. The Azure Brook people filed back to the combatants' bench one by one. No one looked toward the Qingya side.

In the very front row of the east stands, the man with the sword on his back was gone. His armchair sat empty.

At Wei hour, the sun tilted a little to the west.

Wen Su: "First place, Cloud Terrace Sect versus Qingya. Submit your lineup sheet."

Xu Yan hadn't moved yet. Shi Po rose from the bench first.

"I can still hold."

His right shoulder had a tear in the robe, and a bruise spread purple-blue down to his chest. Standing, his left shoulder sat higher than his right.

Xu Yan stayed seated and looked up at him. "No more holding." He paused. "We've made the top three."

Shi Po stood without moving. He glanced into the ring. His footprints still marked the lime line on the south side. He pressed his hand against his thigh. "Not fighting for first—still top three."

"Yes."

Shi Po sat back down. He sat slowly, and once seated, rested both hands on his knees.

Bai Xiaoman tucked the remaining half-roll of cloth back into her sleeve and said quietly, "Then I'll save this roll." No one answered her, and she stopped talking.

Xu Yan stood and walked toward the judging stand. He circled around the trial ring and stopped beneath the platform, tilting his head up. "Rank Evaluator, Qingya will not be fielding a fighter for this round."

The stands went still for a moment.

Wen Su lowered her head slightly. "Five names submitted, none sent out. All five rounds forfeited. Counted as a loss." She raised her eyes again, her voice unchanged. "First place, Cloud Terrace Sect."

The clerk's brush came down.

Someone in the stands asked, "They're not fighting for first?" The person beside him said, "Look at them—five people. One's sitting over in the west stands, one's hand just split open, one can't lift his arm. Fight what?" The first man asked no further.

On the Cloud Terrace side, the team captain cupped his hands toward the combatants' bench from across the ring. He did not come over.

Qi Qi asked in a low voice, "So what place are we?" Xu Yan answered, "Second." Qi Qi turned the number over in his mouth once and didn't ask again. He glanced back at the Chixiao bench, now empty.

In the front row of the west stand, Jiang Wan lowered her hand from where it had rested on her sheath and placed it on her knee. She looked at the man standing beneath the judging platform, and did not smile.

Xu Yan was still standing beneath the platform.

Wen Su pushed the ratings register half an inch forward, wrote a few characters on the paper, and set the brush down. She turned her head to the clerk handling the seals. "Open the wooden box."