Chapter 255: The Third Stick of Incense

Dawn had just broken, and dew still clung to the green stone steps at the mountain gate. Nie Bo swept the night's fallen leaves into a small pile just left of the archway; each pass of the broom raised the mound a little higher.

Xu Yan stood in the middle of the front courtyard.

The square table had been carried out yesterday afternoon and wiped down twice during the night; the water stains on its surface had dried. An old crack ran along one corner, smooth to the touch from end to end. Four long benches were set north and south, each leg checked and tightened one by one.

He walked the path from the front courtyard to the mountain gate. The ground had been swept, the empty baskets along the veranda moved to the back room, and the charcoal stove outside the Medicine Hall sat covered, no smoke rising. At the gate he stood beneath the archway and looked down the mountain. The river lay in fog; no boats visible. Nie Bo swept up to his feet, went around him, and kept sweeping. Xu Yan pressed a hand against the thin ledger inside his robes, then turned and walked back.

Smoke rose first from the kitchen.

Qian Duoduo poked half his body out the kitchen door, one hand still gripping the spatula. "Sect Master, I steamed a tray of spirit cakes."

"Take them off."

"Won't the Rank Evaluator not eat our food anyway?"

"I'm not serving them," Xu Yan said. "Not until after the evaluation."

"Oh." Qian Duoduo ducked back inside. A moment later he leaned out again. "Then I'll keep them in the steamer and let them cool."

A Sui was crouched on the steps of the main hall, hands pressed to her knees, counting on her fingers one by one. She'd reached the fourth when the sweeping at the mountain gate stopped.

At the Dragon hour, three people came up the mountain path.

Wen Su walked in front, her clothes barely dusted. The two clerks followed behind—one carrying a wooden box, the other a register strapped to his back. The climb left sweat on their backs, and they paused just inside the front courtyard to catch their breath.

Xu Yan went to meet them at the mountain gate. "Rank Evaluator."

"Sect Master Xu." Wen Su acknowledged him, walked around him, and seated herself behind the square table. She set her water flask down by her left hand and rested her palm on her knee.

"The roster."

Xu Yan entered the Ancestral Hall.

A thin layer of dust had settled on the wooden box beneath the offering table. He crouched down, lifted it out with both hands, opened the lid, removed the paper roster, closed the box, and slid it back into place. As he stood, he raised his eyes and scanned the row of ancestral tablets on the offering table before carrying the roster out.

The roster went down on the square table. Its corners were curled, the edges worn soft.

Wen Su opened it to the first page. The clerk with the wooden box spread out name-verification paper on the table, set down a small inkstone, poured a little water, and ground the ink.

"In the order of the roster," Wen Su said. "One at a time."

Jiang Wan went first. She took the brush, dipped it in ink, and wrote quickly, one stroke through to the end. When she was done she slid her paper over to the clerk and returned to the veranda.

Shi Po gripped the brush like a chopping knife. Each horizontal and vertical stroke pressed down hard; his name came out large, taking up half the paper. When he finished, he wiped his hand on his trouser seam. The clerk glanced at it but said nothing.

Bai Xiaoman wrote small, stroke pressed carefully against stroke, and when she finished she held the paper up to the light for a look before setting it down.

Huo Qing dipped the brush in the inkstone and wrote with his left hand. His right arm hung at his side, motionless. He wrote slowly—horizontal was horizontal, vertical was vertical, every stroke standing firm.

Qi Qi wrote fast, his name sloping upward. Shao Ming wrote neat, and blew on the paper before pushing it over.

A He finished and stepped aside to wait for his sister.

A Sui walked over, wiped her hands twice on her apron, then took the brush. She wrote the slowest, the brush tip pausing on the paper before moving on. Halfway through, her hand trembled and a stroke went crooked. She looked up at the clerk.

"No rush," the clerk said.

She lowered her head again, worked the stroke back into line, and finished.

When Qian Duoduo took the brush, his fingers still had flour on them. He wiped them clean on his apron before writing, stroke by careful stroke. "Is this okay?" he asked when he finished. The clerk nodded.

Du Xiaochuan was last. He set the brush back by the inkstone and went to stand beside Shi Po.

The clerk picked up each sheet, blew it dry, checked it against the roster, then bound it into the ratings register. Ten sheets, bound together.

The box-holding clerk pushed the register over to Wen Su and murmured a few words. She flipped through two pages and looked up. "The roster lists ten people. All present today?"

"All on the mountain," Xu Yan said.

She glanced toward the main hall steps. A He and A Sui were crouched there, both pairs of eyes fixed on her. She looked away.

"Golden Core and Foundation Establishment, per the roster."

Jiang Wan came from the veranda, pushed her sleeve up a section, and extended her hand.

Wen Su pressed two fingers to her wrist and held them there. After a while she shifted her fingers slightly and pressed again.

"Early Golden Core."

Jiang Wan withdrew her hand and pulled her sleeve back down.

Shao Ming stepped forward and offered his hand. Wen Su's two fingers landed, and the answer came quickly. "Mid-Foundation Establishment."

Huo Qing came forward and extended his left wrist. Wen Su glanced at him; the right arm hung loose, the sleeve a bit emptier. She asked nothing. She pressed two fingers to his wrist and held them for a while before lifting them away.

"Early Foundation Establishment."

"Record it," she said, turning to the clerk. "Roster: ten people. One Golden Core. Three at Foundation Establishment or above." She paused, then added, "The Six Conditions apply only to the names on the roster. Anyone not on the roster: not counted, not examined."

Xu Yan stood beside the table, listening. He had gone over the Six Conditions one by one on the steps outside the Branch office. Three of them now lay on the table: ten people, one Golden Core, three at Foundation Establishment or above. Of the remaining three, one sat on the stone platform on the back mountain, one in the cloth sack in the Accounts Room, and one still lay unopened at the back of the ratings register.

A Sui sat on the steps counting people on her fingers. She stopped at her own, put the finger down, and counted again.

"We'll go up the back mountain," Wen Su said.

Bai Xiaoman stepped out from under the West Wing eaves, crossed the front courtyard, and turned at the path behind the Ancestral Hall. Xu Yan nodded to her. The register-carrying clerk followed; the wooden box remained on the square table.

Shi Po went first. At the first bend he stopped and stood at the slope's edge, motionless.

Bai Xiaoman walked past him without stopping.

Two quarter-hours, and they reached the stone platform.

On the platform, Bai Xiaoman rolled her sleeves to the elbow and laid her palm against the stone at the earth center. The register clerk stood at the platform's edge, register open, brush in hand. She sent the first pulse of spiritual power downward. A little warmth radiated back through the groove patterns. She paused, then sent the second pulse. When the third went down, a fine tremor ran across the back of her hand. She pressed her knee hard against the stone and the trembling stopped.

No one moved in the front courtyard. Jiang Wan stood beneath the veranda; Huo Qing stood by the pillar; Cheng Banshan sat on the long bench, his formation hand resting on his knee, the other hand gripping the wine gourd unloosened. Qian Duoduo stood at the kitchen door, rubbing his hands back and forth on his apron. A He and A Sui crouched on the main hall steps, the sister staring at the mountain gate.

The light rose from halfway up the slope.

It began as a thin layer, spreading across the stone platform, flowing down the slope, over the grass at the foot, over the roof tiles of the Ancestral Hall, down onto the square bricks of the front courtyard, then outward—out to just beyond the mountain gate's threshold, where it stopped. The threshold marked a precise line; the light halted exactly there.

A wind came down from the north, bending the grass. The light did not stir.

Wen Su rose from behind the table and walked to the mountain gate threshold. "Sect Master Xu, the formation is fully raised."

"Fully raised," Xu Yan said.

"I will test the formation with my palm," she said. "Four sticks of incense, one shichen. The incense must not go out."

The box-holding clerk took the small bronze incense burner and a bundle of incense from the box, set the burner on the green stone outside the threshold, lit the fire starter, and placed the first stick.

The first stick burned to its stub, ash falling into the bronze burner. The clerk pulled the stub out, set it by the burner, and placed the second stick.

Halfway through the second stick, the wind picked up. Fine ripples ran across the light, traveling the full length before smoothing out again on their own. Nie Bo stood beneath the archway, broom in hand, not one step moved.

"Don't let the incense go out," Cheng Banshan said from the veranda, his voice low. The clerk acknowledged and took the next stick in hand.

A Sui asked A He, "How many more?"

A He didn't answer. He rested a hand on her head.

The second stick reached its stub, and the third went in.

Xu Yan suddenly remembered the old cloth sack in the Accounts Room, mouth folded inward, resting on the cash box. That was for the Monkey hour.

The third stick had burned halfway when Wen Su raised her right hand, palm inward, and pushed against the light.

The light yielded half a foot. A corner of the square bricks inside the threshold emerged—the dirt in the cracks dry, yesterday's missed leaf bits still there. Her hand pressed further inward and could go no farther; the light pushed back, even and firm, forcing her palm back to the threshold line—not one inch more, not one inch less.

She withdrew her hand, turned it over to examine the palm. A faint red mark had pressed into the skin. She lifted her eyes, swept them across the Ancestral Hall roof tiles, and returned to where she had stood. She did not push a second time.

The clerk made an entry in the register. The fourth stick of incense went in.

A Sui counted on the steps. At the fourth, she pressed her last finger down and held it.

The fourth stick burned to its stub. Wen Su looked back. "One shichen has passed."

Someone in the front courtyard let out a breath, very softly.

The light began to withdraw from beyond the threshold, layer by layer. It drew back across the square bricks of the front courtyard, back over the Ancestral Hall's tiles, retreating up the slope to the stone platform—then darkened.

A Sui jumped up and made to run for the front courtyard. A He caught her by the sleeve.

On the back mountain, Shi Po was already climbing.

Bai Xiaoman braced one hand on the stone platform, the other hanging limp. It took two tries before she straightened.

Shi Po came to a stop at her feet.

"I can walk down this time," she said.

Shi Po said nothing. He crouched down, back to her. She draped her arms over his shoulders and climbed on; he hoisted her up with both hands and stood.

The register clerk spread his book flat on a stone at the platform's edge, made an entry, closed it, and followed them down.

The descent was slow. Shi Po took it one step at a time. Bai Xiaoman lay against his back, head tilted against his shoulder, eyes open, watching the grass on either side.

Halfway down, the mountain gate came into view. Back at the front courtyard, Shi Po stopped by a long bench on the veranda and crouched to set her down.

Cheng Banshan rose from the bench, walked over, and lifted one of her hands, pressing three fingers to her wrist.

He held for a while, then switched to the other.

"The market on the tenth," Bai Xiaoman said. "The accounts..."

"I'll go," Xu Yan said.

Cheng Banshan lifted his three fingers away and set her hand back on her knee.

"Her spiritual power is drained. Don't let it stir for two days."

Shi Po crouched again, lifted her onto his back, and carried her toward the West Wing.

Qian Duoduo took two steps out from the kitchen. "Elder Cheng, she can't even have the spirit cakes?"

"She can eat," Cheng Banshan said. "She just can't use spiritual power."

Wen Su sat back down behind the square table, pulled the stopper from her water flask, took a drink, pressed it back in, and drew the ratings register a little closer to herself.