Chapter 190: Recorded in the Ratings Register

At noon on the sixth day of the Eighth Month, Qi Qi scraped the soles of his shoes twice on the threshold before stepping into the Luoxia Carriage House. The place smelled of fodder and old leather. A row of reins hung on the wall, and a worn-out register lay open on the counter.

"Seventh day, Mao hour. One cart, to Linchuan," Qi Qi said.

The old man behind the counter nudged the register forward. "How many people?"

"Two."

"What day are you coming back?"

"I'll let you know at the carriage yard outside the city on the eighth," Qi Qi said. "Four spirit stones, paid when we board on the seventh."

The old man pulled a charcoal stub from behind his ear and scratched a mark in the register, then glanced at the sky. "The cart on the seventh is the one pulled over from the Stone Workshop. Board's laid with old straw, won't rattle your bones. Mao hour, the cart'll be out front. Won't be late."

Qi Qi recited the date back, confirmed the "Shen hour arrival," and only then turned to leave. The sun was scorching. The old pagoda tree's shadow at the town gate had shrunk to its roots, and the street had mostly emptied out. He walked all the way back to the mountain, reaching the Mountain Gate at Shen hour. He stopped first at the Accounts Room door. "Booked. Seventh, Mao hour."

Xu Yan, pen moving across the ledger, didn't look up. "Mm."

"Four stones, paid on boarding." Qi Qi said it, saw there was nothing else coming, and headed for the West Wing.

At You hour, Xu Yan wrote out the list of things for this trip on a fresh line: roster, the Eighth Rank promotion document. He paused after finishing, then added another line below: cart fare four stones, two nights at the inn four stones. The space after it he left blank, to fill in when they returned.

On the seventh, Yin hour, the sky was still ink-black. Xu Yan went first to the Ancestral Hall. Of the two oil lamps on the offering table, only one was lit. The ancestral tablets stood in rows, Founding Patriarch Ning Gui's at the very top; when the lamp flame wavered, the characters dimmed for a moment. He crouched down and pulled the wooden box out from under the offering table, lifted the lid. The paper copy of the Qingya Sect Master Roster lay pressed at the bottom, its page edges worn soft from handling.

He lifted the roster out, wrapped it layer by layer in the oilcloth he'd brought, by lamplight, until it was a neat square bundle, and held it to his chest. Back in the Accounts Room, he slid two pages apart in the ledger and drew out the Eighth Rank promotion document dated the third day of the Third Month. The square seal had been folded around carefully, avoided; he tucked it flat against his inner robe. The account book went into his chest as usual, on the inner side.

At the Mountain Gate, Qian Duoduo stood holding two packets, eyes not fully open. "Two packets of coarse grain cakes. Miss the market's not missing? Won't starve for two days."

"Enough," Xu Yan said, taking them.

"The inn only gives you hot water?" Qian Duoduo trailed after him. "You're not even buying a meal in the city?"

"No."

"Then I put in an extra pinch of salt for you." He yawned. "Bland food won't go down."

Qi Qi was already down the stone steps, turning back to hurry them. The sky was paling. Ten li of mountain road; two people down it made exactly one shichen.

A mule cart stood outside the Luoxia Carriage House, its bed laid with old straw, the straw filmed with dust. The mule's head hung low, ears twitching. The carter was coiling the reins around the shaft; seeing them, he gathered the loose ends in one hand. Xu Yan counted out four low-grade spirit stones and handed them over. The carter took them, stuffed them into the cloth pouch at his waist, said "Hold on tight," and flicked the whip once, a feint, over the mule's rump.

Out of town, onto the official road. Eighty li; the mule cart wouldn't arrive until Shen hour.

The rice on both sides of the road was more than half cut. Stubble stood ankle-high in the paddies; the cut stalks were bundled into sheaves and stacked, sheaf after sheaf, along the field embankments. Plenty of carts were heading for Linchuan, one after another, all loaded with autumn grain. Qi Qi sat on the cart rail and counted; by the seventh cart he stopped and turned back. "They're all hauling into the city."

The carter answered from up front: "Autumn grain all goes to Linchuan. Rice price changes by the day this time of year."

"The rice we eat up on the mountain — is it going up too?" Qi Qi asked.

"Up on the mountain, you're eating spirit rice," Xu Yan said.

Qi Qi thought about that, laughed once, and crossed his legs to settle in.

The cart crossed a stretch of ruts, jolting everyone sideways. Xu Yan pressed the oilcloth bundle against his chest and kept pressing until the road smoothed out. The spot behind his waist gave two dull thumps with the jolts — same as always, no pain, no flow. He pressed a hand to his lower back, then withdrew it.

At Shen hour, the cart reached the carriage yard outside Linchuan. Dozens of mule carts stood every which way, and the smell of fodder and mule dung mixed with a thread of cook-smoke drifting out from the city. The two of them got off and walked in on foot.

The inn by the Market was the same as ever. The shopkeeper poked his head out from behind the counter and recognized them. "East end of the second floor. Two plank beds. Same room as before?"

"Same room," Xu Yan said.

"Two stones a night, settle when you leave." The shopkeeper set the key on the counter. "Hot water's on the stove, carry it up yourself."

The room was small, two plank beds against the wall, the window opening toward the Market. The sounds of stalls closing up and cart wheels grinding over flagstones drifted up together. Qi Qi carried a pot of hot water upstairs and poured it into the wooden basin. The two of them broke the cakes apart over the hot water and ate half a packet.

After dark, the sounds from the Market side settled down layer by layer. Xu Yan unwrapped the oilcloth under the lamp and spread the roster on the bed, paging through from the front.

Jiang Wan's characters started heavy and flicked up at the end of each stroke. Shi Po wrote stroke by stroke, horizontal lines level, verticals straight, slow. Bai Xiaoman's characters crowded together — line spacing too tight; she must not have had a ruler at hand back then. Huo Qing wrote with his left hand, strokes pressing to the right. Qi Qi's own name looked the sloppiest, but it was actually practiced. Further down was A Sui. Her name was written the slowest of all; where the final vertical stroke ended, the ink was heavy, already blurred into a small blot.

Xu Yan shifted the roster closer to the lamp, looked a while, then closed it.

He took out the promotion document and read it over: the square seal pressed true, no scuffing at the corners, the handwriting Wen Su's — the day of the third day of the Third Month, she'd written it and handed it to him. He folded it back along the original creases and tucked it against his body.

Qi Qi lay on the bed, both feet propped over the edge. "Sect Master."

"Mm."

"The Seventh Rank fee — that's next year?"

"This year's paid is the Eighth Rank's, one hundred twenty stones," Xu Yan said. "The Seventh Rank starts counting from next year."

"How much next year?"

"Next year has next year's accounts."

Qi Qi rolled over, buried his face in the pillow, and mumbled "I can't keep it straight," and then went quiet.

Xu Yan turned the lamp down low, sat against the wall for a while, and only then lay down.

On the eighth, Chen hour, the two of them went to the Branch. The public office was on the east side of the front courtyard; the moment you walked in, you hit the smell of old paper and ink. A shelf ran along the wall, ledger after ledger standing upright, paper labels pasted to their spines. On the desk sat a seal, a bronze water basin, and an inkstone with ink already ground.

Wen Su sat behind the desk, a ledger open in front of her, brush resting by her hand. She lifted her eyes to them, then lowered them again.

The clerk stepped forward, took the oilcloth bundle from Xu Yan's hands, set it on the desk, and unwrapped it layer by layer, spreading the roster open to the first page. Then he turned, lifted a thick volume down from the shelf, and set it beside the roster. A stack of name-verification papers was bound into it, their corners softened.

"Alliance Year 300, the ninth day of the Ninth Month," the clerk said, and bent his head to compare.

He checked line by line. A finger tapped the roster, spoke a name, then moved to the name-verification paper and tapped again, comparing the handwriting.

"Jiang Wan."

"Shi Po."

"Bai Xiaoman."

"Huo Qing."

"Qi Qi."

At that one, Qi Qi's shoulders twitched; he stood straighter than before.

"Shao Ming. A He. A Sui." The clerk paused at A Sui's page. The writing in both places was equally slow, equally slanted, the strokes identical. He said nothing and went on.

"Qian Duoduo. Du Xiaochuan."

The clerk looked up. "Ten. Handwriting all matches."

Xu Yan said "Mm." Qi Qi let out a soft breath behind him.

The clerk flipped the thick volume back several pages, to the page for Alliance Year 301, and set his finger on two lines of small characters: "The Eighth Rank promotion, Alliance Year 301, the third day of the Third Month. Did you bring the document?"

Xu Yan drew it from his inner robe and spread it on the desk. The clerk compared the document's wording against the entry in the volume line for line, then held the document up to the light from the window and examined the seal's edge. He finished and nodded. "Matches."

He dipped the brush, scraped the tip twice against the inkstone's edge, and wrote: "Alliance Year 301, the eighth day of the Eighth Month, Qingya Sect, submits application for promotion to Seventh Rank." When he finished, he placed a paperweight over it to hold it down while the ink dried.

Qi Qi stood half a step behind Xu Yan, fingers rubbing against his trouser seams, eyes fixed on the seal on the desk. When the clerk's brush came down, he leaned half a step forward, and Xu Yan's back of the hand checked him — neither hard nor soft — and he stepped back.

The ink dried. The clerk moved the paperweight, flipped through the page, closed the thick volume, and pushed the roster and document back across the desk.

Xu Yan asked one question: "Rank Evaluator — the one hundred twenty stones, point-count in person on the day of the Autumn Evaluation?"

"In person," Wen Su said. "Counted twice."

Only then did she set her brush in the brush rest. "Roster, ten people. Anything delivered before the thirtieth day of the Eighth Month counts."

"Understood," Xu Yan said.

"The ninth day of the Ninth Month. I will come to the Mountain Gate to evaluate." She glanced at Qi Qi. "The five requirements for Seventh Rank. Remember them."

"Remembered," Xu Yan said.

The clerk handed the oilcloth back, and Xu Yan wrapped the roster himself and held it to his chest.

Outside the office, the sun had climbed over the courtyard wall. A few freshly washed water basins sat drying under the eaves. The two of them sat down on the steps and split the remaining half-packet of cakes. Qi Qi chewed, then suddenly said, "When that seal pressed down, my heart lurched."

"Recorded means it counts," Xu Yan said.

"Recorded means it counts." Qi Qi repeated it, stuffed the last bite into his mouth.

At Wei hour, Qi Qi left the city for the carriage yard to arrange the return. It was still light when he came back; the cart on the ninth, Mao hour, was set, same carter as before. Xu Yan rewrapped the roster in his room; the document stayed against his body.

Nothing happened on the night of the eighth. Qi Qi slept early. Xu Yan pulled the window half-shut, listened to the sounds from the Market side for a while, then lay down.

On the ninth, Mao hour, the two of them went downstairs. The shopkeeper was working an abacus behind the counter.

"Two nights," Xu Yan said.

"Two stones a night." The shopkeeper put the key away in a drawer.

Xu Yan counted out four stones and set them on the counter, watched him sweep them into the cash box, then went out.

Out of the city, onto the cart. On the way back, a spell of rain came down; the official road turned to mud, and the cart moved slower than before. Qi Qi slept on the boards the whole way, waking twice, both times checking first whether the oilcloth bundle was still there. They reached Luoxia at Shen hour. The rain had stopped; the flagstone road still steamed. They got off, walked the mountain path up, and reached the Mountain Gate at You hour.

Nie Bo was sweeping the gate, broom stroke after stroke, wet leaves sticking flat to the stone.

Sword sounds came from the East Courtyard — stroke after stroke, no pause.

Xu Yan went first to the Ancestral Hall, took the roster out of the oilcloth, returned it to the wooden box, shut the lid, and slid it back under the offering table. Back at the Accounts Room, he tucked the promotion document between two pages of the ledger, then filled in the line he'd written on the sixth — "fill in the numbers after returning": cart fare four stones, two nights at the inn four stones.

He had just straightened up when someone appeared at the Accounts Room door. Bai Xiaoman stood there, two pebbles in her hand, passing them back and forth.

"Sect Master, should we test the great formation once first?"

Xu Yan closed the ledger. "The eighth. Day before the Autumn Evaluation."

Bai Xiaoman switched the pebbles to her other hand and counted through on her fingers from the beginning. She reached the eighth day of the Ninth Month, nodded once, turned, and left.