Chapter 248: The Branch Clerk

The section burned through the back wall looked worse by daylight than it had at night. The upper half of the planks was charred black, the edges curling inward, and the exposed mud had baked pale from the heat. Half the eaves were gone, leaving only the scorched stubs of a few rafters that shed ash whenever the wind passed. The empty baskets that had sat in the back room were now nothing but black rings on the floor; one kick reduced them to powder.

The front room hadn't caught. The cabinet door was locked, the lamp on top of it still burning, its shade blackened on one side. Cen Si sat by the door at the far end of the cabinet, both hands still bound, the hemp rope chafing two pale lines into his wrists. The bowl of water at his feet was half empty.

On the eleventh day of the Eighth Month, at the Dragon hour, Xu Yan set a spirit stone on the counter at the Luoxia Money House. The man behind the counter weighed it on a small scale and slid ten taels of silver across, tooth marks ringing the edge of the silver. Xu Yan tucked the silver into his cloth pouch and went out to the market to buy materials: brick, mud, rafters, planks, tile. Load by load he hauled them to the foot of the back wall behind the grain shop's courtyard.

The mason was from town. He crouched beneath the back wall for a long while, then stood and dusted off his hands. "The stone footing underneath is sound. All these boards up top need replacing. Two of the rafters are burned to the core—one's a full replacement, the other can be trimmed down and reused." He reached up and snapped a piece off a charred rafter end; a flake of black charcoal dropped away. "Half the eave needs re-tiling. Two taels for the labor, and I get a noon meal."

"Enough brick?" Xu Yan asked.

"Brick's enough. Mud's not." The mason spat on the ground. "This is an old wall. The mud needs fresh-cut straw mixed in."

And the silver went. Brick, mud, rafters, planks, tile, plus the two taels in wages—by the Horse hour, the ten taels were gone to the last piece.

The grain shop proprietor strolled over from the far end of the back courtyard and stood under the wall, studying it. After a while he said, "No one was hurt. That's what matters."

"I'll fix the wall. It'll be done today."

The proprietor brushed the stone footing with the back of his hand. "The lease says, 'the back wall is not to be altered.'"

"It's still the same wall, still the same height," Xu Yan said. "When it's done, come look."

"What's there for me to look at." The proprietor wiped his hands on his clothes and turned to leave. After two steps he looked back. "That little path out back—wall or no wall, it's still there. Anyone can walk it at night."

Shao Ming and Shi Po worked as the mason's helpers. Shao Ming passed bricks; Shi Po mixed mud and hauled rafters. The two of them went back and forth from the wall's base to the eaves, each of them soaking a patch through the back of their clothes. The mason stomped Shi Po's mud twice with his foot, then lifted it to inspect. "Even. You've done this before?"

"I've mixed it," Shi Po said.

"Quarry?" The mason glanced at him, then let it drop.

Cen Si sat by the door. When he saw they were short-handed at the brick pile, he lifted both hands and the rope pulled taut. Qi Qi reached over and pressed down on his arm. "You stay put."

Qi Qi sat too, on an upturned basket, guarding the door. He watched Cen Si eat, and whenever the man slowed down he'd urge, "Eat while it's hot. Once the Horse hour passes, it's cold."

Cen Si finished, set the bowl at his feet, and looked up at the back wall. After a moment he said, "The wall behind our shop was built the same way. Stone below, planks above."

Xu Yan was recording the material costs in the ledger. He didn't raise his head. "Mm."

"Sect Master Xu," Cen Si said, "those two taels—do I need to pay them back?"

"I don't know." Xu Yan set down the brush. "How the Branch will rule on that, I can't write. I don't write down what I don't know."

Cen Si lowered his head and asked no more.

Du Xiaochuan came back from the Luoxia carriage house and spoke from outside the wall. "It's booked. Tomorrow at the Mao hour, one cart. Fare is four stones, payable the day of departure."

"You made it clear we're not going through the city gate?"

"I did. It stops at the carriage yard outside town." Du Xiaochuan nodded. "The old man at the counter marked a line in his book with a charcoal stick. Said the Mao hour means boarding time—the people wait for the cart, the cart doesn't wait for the people."

By late afternoon, the back wall was done. The new section was still damp to the touch, and the whole patch didn't match the old wall around it—one shade here, another there. Half the eave had been re-tiled, the new tiles laid tight, and a sparrow landed on them, stood a moment, and flew off. The mason gathered his tools, and on his way out he glanced back. "New mud'll take three to five months to settle into color. Two rains this winter and it'll blend in."

At the Monkey hour, Xu Yan, Shao Ming, Qi Qi, Shi Po, and Du Xiaochuan left town with Cen Si. Cen Si still wore cloth shoes, and he couldn't manage the mountain road at any speed. Shi Po followed behind him, reaching out a steadying hand whenever the man faltered, and saying nothing afterward.

They reached the Mountain Gate at the You hour. The firewood shed stood beside the kitchen, more than half its space stacked with wood. Shao Ming shifted the innermost pile out and spread a layer of dry hay on the floor.

Cheng Banshan stood at the kitchen door, one hand holding his wine gourd. "That room next to the kitchen—don't deadbolt it. If he runs, you say I let him out."

"He won't run." Qi Qi set the door bar in place, leaving a gap the width of a finger.

Qian Duoduo brought over a bowl of rice—spirit rice mixed with coarse grain, two pieces of pickled vegetable pressed on top. "Eat. You've got a cart to catch tomorrow."

A Sui trailed behind, gripping the doorframe and peering in. After a long look she asked, "When are you letting him go?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow he won't be on our mountain anymore?"

"No."

A He tugged at her sleeve from behind. Cen Si took the bowl and held it without moving, only lowering his head to eat after everyone had gone.

The charcoal stove at the Medicine Hall door was lit on the eleventh, at the Mao hour. Cheng Banshan tended it one-handed, the iron ring on the stove door hooked open a crack by a metal hook so he could judge the fire, cursing the flames for not behaving. After the lamps were lit, footsteps sounded before the wooden target under the veranda—Huo Qing there practicing that one thrust, over and over, the hole in the bullseye deepening a little more each time.

Xu Yan returned to the Accounts Room, took out the confession copy, and filed it together with the land deed, the judgment document, and the promotion papers. Opening the ledger, he entered a line: the eleventh day of the Eighth Month. Back wall repaired. One spirit stone. When he'd written it, he set the brush down and added: Cen Si on the mountain, firewood shed.

On the night of the eleventh, Qi Qi took the first watch and Shao Ming the second. The two of them traded off, and through the whole night Cen Si didn't leave that patch of dry hay. Sometime in the night there was a sound outside the firewood shed. Qi Qi took a lamp over to look and found A Sui standing at the door holding half a spirit cake, barefoot. Qi Qi looked at her for a moment, then pushed the door open a crack. "Go on. Don't talk."

It was still dark at the Yin hour on the twelfth. Xu Yan handed the original confession to Shao Ming, who tucked it inside his robe. Shao Ming went first, a lantern in hand; Qi Qi followed behind Cen Si. The three of them went out the Mountain Gate, and the lantern light dragged a yellow line down the mountain path, picking out a layer of swept leaves on the stone steps—broom marks in neat rows, one beside the next.

At the Mao hour they reached the Luoxia carriage house. The carter led the mule out of its stall, and Qi Qi counted out the four stones for the fare first. "Return trip's included."

Eighty li of official road. The mule cart was slow; the mule walked for a stretch, then the carter jumped down and led it by hand for a stretch. Qi Qi couldn't sit still on the cart—one moment he was off walking alongside, the next he was back up. Shao Ming leaned against the side rail, both hands resting on his knees. Cen Si sat at the tail end, hands still bound, watching the road shrink behind them the whole way.

Halfway there, Cen Si asked, "If the Branch takes me, where do I go after this?"

Shao Ming thought about it. "I don't know. Our job is just to deliver you there."

Cen Si didn't ask again.

At the Monkey hour they reached the carriage yard outside Linchuan. The city's rooflines showed beyond the wall, a layer of eaves rising above it, and the sound of the city drifted over, indistinct. Qi Qi went into the shed first. "Tomorrow, Mao hour, back to Luoxia." The man inside marked a line on his board.

Late in the Monkey hour, the three of them reached the Branch's public office. The office was on the east side of the Branch front courtyard, its door open. A clerk sat behind his desk grinding ink. His eyes went first to Cen Si, and his brush paused.

Shao Ming took the confession from inside his robe and laid it on the desk. "Qingya Sect, delivering one man. The one who set the fire behind the Qingya Market on the night of the tenth day of the Eighth Month. The confession is here, bearing his own handprint, with Lu Shoutian, Steward Miao of Ink Pool Gate, and Steward Zhuo of Willow Bank Gate as witnesses."

The clerk picked up the confession and read it line by line. Halfway through, he looked up. "What was burned?"

"The back room. A few empty baskets. The front room's goods and ledgers weren't touched."

"Anyone hurt?"

"No."

The clerk nodded and read the rest. "This is the man?"

"Yes."

"This confession has no Rank Evaluator's seal on it." The clerk set the paper down and flipped open a thin register beside him, turned to a page, then looked up at Shao Ming again. "Qingya Sect. Seventh Rank."

"Seventh Rank."

"The Branch accepts delivery," the clerk said. "When the Rank Evaluator returns, I'll report it to her."

He called toward the back, and someone came out and led Cen Si to the row of rooms behind. Qi Qi followed a couple of steps, crouched down, and untied the hemp rope from Cen Si's wrists, coiling it into a loop and tucking it into his sleeve. "The rope's mine. Used it for taking down the lamp."

Cen Si flexed his wrists, said "Thanks," and followed the man away.

Back at the desk, the clerk folded the confession and looked at Shao Ming. "When you get back, tell Sect Master Xu: the petition and the promotion application are both due by the thirtieth day of the Eighth Month."

"The thirtieth day of the Eighth Month." Shao Ming repeated the line.

"Correct. Past that date, the Branch follows procedure and won't accept them." The clerk lowered his head and went back to grinding his ink, slow and even.

They stayed that night at the Linchuan Inn, two stones per room per night, paid at checkout. Each man took a bowl of hot water and soaked the coarse grain cakes they'd brought from the mountain. The cakes had been griddled by Qian Duoduo on the eleventh; the edges had gone hard, and only after soaking could they be bitten through. Qi Qi counted what was left in his pouch when he finished eating. "Enough to last to the fifteenth."

On the thirteenth they set out from the carriage yard at the Mao hour. The return trip was an empty cart, and the mule moved faster than it had coming. At the Monkey hour they reached Luoxia Town, and at the You hour they were back at the Mountain Gate.

Xu Yan was waiting for him at the Main Hall door. Shao Ming set his cloth pouch down and gave his report standing: "The man was delivered to the Branch. The confession was accepted. The clerk said the petition and the promotion application are both due by the thirtieth day of the Eighth Month."

"Did he give a specific date?"

"No date. Just before the thirtieth day of the Eighth Month."

Xu Yan entered a line in the ledger: the twelfth day of the Eighth Month. Branch office, man delivered. Clerk says: petition, promotion application, before the thirtieth day of the Eighth Month.

The fifteenth day of the Eighth Month was a market day, and the market opened as usual. At the Dragon hour, Shao Ming took the door panels down and leaned them against the wall. The newly repaired wall stood right behind the door—one whole patch that didn't match the old wall, the mud still not fully dry. Rogue cultivators came in with spirit herbs on their backs for weighing. A few circled around to the back to look, then came back and dropped their baskets on the floor. "Fire?"

"Burned half the eave," Shao Ming answered, weighing as he spoke.

"The man?"

"Sent away."

The rogue cultivators asked no more, crouching down to stack their spirit herbs bundle by bundle. The scale weight dropped to the third notch, and Shao Ming nudged the hand scale forward.

The market closed at the end of the Horse hour. They left town at the Wei hour and reached the Mountain Gate at the Monkey hour. At the You hour, Xu Yan put away the cash box, the market chest, and the ledgers one by one in the Accounts Room. Opening the ledger, he recorded after the Eighth Month's accounts: Balance on hand, ten thousand two hundred sixty-nine stones.

When he'd written it, he started a new line and wrote: File the petition before the thirtieth day of the Eighth Month.

The space below that line was still empty. How the petition should be worded, who would agree to co-sign, who would press a handprint at the end of the document, what day they would set out for Linchuan—not a single word of any of it existed yet. He set the brush back on the brush rest and looked at the page for a while.