Chapter 228: Six Dewdrop Pills

Shi Po carried five prayer cushions out of the West Wing, stacked high enough to reach his chest.

The open ground under the eaves in front of the Medicine Hall had been swept the night before. He set one down, stepped back two paces, measured the distance with his feet, set down another, and arranged all five in a row facing the Medicine Hall doors. When they were lined up, he retreated to the far end of the veranda to look, then walked over and shifted the easternmost one half a foot.

"Off," he said.

Du Xiaochuan crouched by the furnace, sliding a bamboo slip under the furnace door to scrape out a layer of white ash. The firebox still glowed red—dark red, from the last fuel added during the Chou hour the night before. For seven nights he had slept on the plank bed in the Medicine Hall's outer room, one end toward the furnace door, one end toward the entrance, rising once every two hours to check: add fuel when it glowed red, rake ash when it went pale. He looked up at the cushions. "You're measuring the cushions too?"

"The people sitting on them can't be off level."

"The people sitting on them set themselves straight."

Shi Po didn't answer. He squatted back down and checked the gaps between the five cushions again, then took the bamboo slip from Du Xiaochuan and raked the furnace ash for him. Of the one and a half loads of charcoal against the back wall, only half a basket remained—the broken pieces burned first, the dense ones pressed underneath.

The sun climbed to the Medicine Hall's eaves, and the patch of light under the veranda shifted, settling perfectly over the five cushions. Cheng Banshan had chosen the spot the day before. The courtyard floor was blue stone, he'd said—sitting on it all day would bruise bone.

At the kitchen door, Qian Duoduo herded A He and A Sui inside, one with each hand.

"In, in."

A Sui gripped the doorframe. "We'll just watch from the doorway, we won't say a word."

"What's there to watch? A pill goes in, their faces turn red one by one—nothing worth seeing." Qian Duoduo pushed her inside. "The porridge is still on the stove, and the rice hasn't been picked over."

Cheng Banshan stood at the Medicine Hall threshold, his formation hand hanging at his side, his other hand holding the woven bamboo furnace cover. He glanced toward the kitchen. "Duoduo, keep an eye on them. Don't let them into the yard."

"I won't let them out," Qian Duoduo replied.

"No standing in the courtyard either," Cheng Banshan said. "Today, in this courtyard: those who've taken the pill sit, and those who haven't don't stand around watching. Too many watchers and the qi scatters."

Qian Duoduo answered and led both children inside, pulling the kitchen door half shut behind them, leaving a crack.

Jiang Wan came from the East Courtyard. No sword at her waist.

Cheng Banshan looked at her. "Your sword?"

"Left it in the East Courtyard."

"No iron on your body today." He nodded, then tilted his chin toward the veranda. "You—sit closest to the door."

Huo Qing had been mid-thrust when he heard this. He lowered his left hand, let his right arm fall to his side, and walked over to stand beneath the veranda. The wooden target at his feet had a crater in the bullseye, a white ring of fresh wear around its edge.

"No training today," Cheng Banshan said.

"Mm."

Qi Qi came around from the kitchen carrying an empty bucket. His pace slowed as he passed the five cushions, then he continued on and set the bucket down by a veranda pillar. He turned to look at the cushions, counted them once, counted again, and asked nothing. Since the furnace was lit on the ninth, Cheng Banshan had said only one thing: "We'll see when the time comes."

By the time Xu Yan arrived from the Accounts Room, two small porcelain vials sat on the Medicine Hall counter: one was the hall's old bottle, stoppered with wood; the other was also old, white-glazed, its stopper wrapped in prescription paper. Cheng Banshan set both at the corner of the counter and let no one touch them.

"Early Wu hour," Cheng Banshan said. "Watch the furnace."

The sun moved directly overhead.

The charcoal furnace at the Medicine Hall door had burned for seven nights. The lower ring of its body, once black, was now baked gray-white. Cheng Banshan lifted off the bamboo cover and squatted down to look at the layer of coals inside the firebox. Red beneath, ash on top.

"Pull the fire," he said.

Du Xiaochuan hooked the coals out one by one with the iron hook and dropped them into the water basin at the foot of the wall—each one hissed, and white steam billowed up. At the third coal, Cheng Banshan raised a hand to stop him. "Leave two. The chamber needs to stay warm when we collect the pills. If it goes cold, the pill skins will crack."

He reached his own hand into the furnace door and pushed the two remaining coals to either side, leaving the middle channel of the firebox clear.

"Little Xu, stand here. Du Xiaochuan, over there."

The firebox went quiet.

Cheng Banshan set his formation hand on the furnace lid—the five fingers were wood, and they gripped the lid ring with perfect steadiness. His other hand formed a hand seal, palm facing the firebox, and green alchemy flame seeped through his fingers, slowly gathering up that layer of heat.

"Lift."

The formation hand rose. The lid came up half an inch from the mouth, and a rush of air burst out first—strong enough to stir the cushions under the veranda. The air was sweet, with a bitterness behind the sweetness, like medicinal herbs boiled too long.

Cheng Banshan didn't lift it all the way. He paused, then raised it higher. The lid was set aside, the hot air dispersed, and he lowered his head to look inside.

Six.

Six points of pale blue-white on the furnace floor. Thin at the edges, thick in the middle, each one separate, none touching another. The light in the Medicine Hall came in at an angle, and where it fell on those six pale points, a faint watery luster showed through.

Cheng Banshan nudged them one by one to the furnace mouth with the bamboo slip. Each time he moved one, he looked it over, then placed it unhurriedly onto the coarse porcelain dish on the counter. Only after the sixth was down did he speak: "Not one cracked."

Du Xiaochuan counted beside the dish. "One, two, three, four, five, six."

"Already counted," Cheng Banshan said.

He picked up the dish again and, in the light at the doorway, examined them one by one—not for cracks, but for the thickness of each. When he finished, he set the dish back on the counter and brushed the powder from his hands.

"Jiang Wan, Huo Qing, Shao Ming, Shi Po, Bai Xiaoman. One pill each."

The yard went still.

Jiang Wan came forward first. Cheng Banshan pushed the dish toward her. His other hand already held the white-glazed vial; he pulled the stopper, pinched the pill nearest her and dropped it in, stoppered it, and handed it to her.

"Take it when you get there."

Jiang Wan accepted the vial and gripped it in her hand without pulling the stopper.

Huo Qing stepped up, picked up a pill with his left hand, and retreated half a step to stand before his own cushion. Shao Ming came next, receiving his with both hands. Shi Po held one in his palm and looked at it for a moment before going to sit.

Bai Xiaoman was last. She stood before the dish, wiped both hands on the hem of her clothes, took the fifth pill, and retreated to her cushion. When she sat down, her knee knocked against Shi Po's.

One pill remained in the dish.

Cheng Banshan carried the dish into the Medicine Hall, took down the old bottle from the shelf, pulled the wooden stopper, poured the last pill in, stoppered it, and walked to the deepest row of shelves. He lifted it onto the highest compartment. On that same shelf rested a thin oilcloth bundle—the empty papers left after twelve stalks of Dewdrop Grass had been taken down.

"Keep one in reserve," he said.

No one asked what the reserve was for.

Qi Qi stood by the veranda pillar, his hand pressing briefly on the bucket's rim. The bucket was empty. Du Xiaochuan hung the iron hook back on the wall; the point clinked, a single sound. Two eyes peered through the crack in the kitchen door—one high, one low—before Qian Duoduo pressed both back with one hand each.

"Sit up straight," Cheng Banshan said to the veranda. "The pill dissolves fast. Swallow it in one gulp. Don't hold it on the root of your tongue and let it sit. If it half-dissolves in your mouth, the other half is wasted."

The four on the cushions crossed their legs and put the pills in their mouths. Huo Qing swallowed most cleanly. Shao Ming drank half a bowl of water. Shi Po swallowed, then worked his tongue against his teeth. Bai Xiaoman swallowed and closed her eyes.

"No talking for half a shichen. No moving," Cheng Banshan said. "The qi travels downward. Where it goes—you'll know yourselves."

Xu Yan looked over the four figures on the veranda, then turned. "Let's go."

Jiang Wan was already at the courtyard gate. She had picked up two water flasks from under the East Courtyard eaves on her way; she tossed one to him. He caught it.

"Don't dawdle on the road," Cheng Banshan called from behind. "Take the stone gully slowly. Brace your hands before you shift."

Jiang Wan looked back. "Understood."

"When the lightning comes, sit and take it," Cheng Banshan added. "Don't stand against it, and don't reach out to block it. The books say lightning follows the person."

"Understood."

The two left the front courtyard one after the other.

Past the Ancestral Hall, the road north was two li of mountain path.

The sun beat straight down. The path had no tree shadow on either side; the grass had been trampled flat. Xu Yan walked fast. The lid came off at the start of the Wu hour, and the pill had to be taken within one shichen—one shichen counted from the moment the lid was lifted. He'd worked that calculation out on the ninth. They still had the stone gully to climb ahead, and the moss underfoot didn't care who was walking on it.

Jiang Wan led the way, her pace steady and unhurried, faster than usual, and she didn't look back. The white-glazed vial was in her hand, gripped so tight her fingers were pale.

"The bend in the gully has water," Xu Yan said from behind.

"Not drinking."

"Didn't say to drink. The rocks there are slick."

That was where he'd banged his knee last time, and she'd laughed at him—"the Accounts Room's pants."

Two quarters to the formation-eye stone platform.

The stone platform stood open on all sides, five formation stones set at their proper positions, a layer of dust on their surfaces. The two heads of Qingya circled past the east side of the platform, neither touching a single stone.

Following the cliff base eastward, the rock wall dipped and split open into a stone gully. It was shaded there; damp rose from the crevices, and the stones underfoot wore a layer of moss.

"Step where I step," Jiang Wan said.

She picked a route, and he matched her footfalls exactly. At the bend, she stepped across with a half-step sideways and glanced back at his feet. The higher the gully climbed, the narrower it grew. The last stretch required one hand braced against each wall, body sideways, inching upward. From the formation eye to the clifftop was one li. That stretch took two quarters.

Out of the gully, the wind hit all at once.

The clifftop was bare stone, bleached white by the sun. To the south, Luoxia Town's rooftops, the river, and the boats on the river all shrank below—visible, soundless. The old pine in the crevice at the southern edge still leaned, half its branches jutting out past the cliff.

Jiang Wan walked to the flat stone she'd chosen on the thirteenth, stopped, and pulled the stopper.

"Wu hour, fourth quarter," Xu Yan said. "Four quarters since the lid came off."

"Four more left."

"Mm. Enough."

She tipped the pill into her mouth, swallowed it down with water from the flask, set the empty bottle on the stone, sat down, crossed her legs, and laid her hands palm-up on her knees.

"Don't stand at the edge," she said.

Xu Yan backed away. The old pine's shadow lay slanted across the rock. He sat in the deepest part of the shadow, his back against the tree roots, ten-some paces from her.

The wind came up from the south and pressed his clothes flat against his legs. She sat with her back to him, spine straight, shoulders squared, a few strands of hair blown loose against her face by the wind. The water flask sat by her feet. Her hands lay open on her knees, the lines of her palms bleached pale by the sun.

After a while, she drew a breath—very slowly—and when she exhaled, her shoulders sank a fraction. The shadow on the stone shifted half an inch.

No other sound on the clifftop. The smell of sun-baked stone. The river's moisture in the wind. Far below, Luoxia Town lay still and quiet.

The wind stopped.

Something warm bloomed against Xu Yan's chest.