Chapter 97: One Sheet of Rules

The bronze brazier in the Ancestral Hall had been wiped down once on the evening of the thirtieth day of the Twelfth Month, and the cloth had left white streaks along the rim. Last year's incense ash had crusted at the bottom, paper ash drifting grain by grain on top. No one had touched it.

Xu Yan knelt on the prayer cushion, pulled three incense sticks free, and lit them from the Eternal Lamp. First he took the incense tongs and smoothed the ash in the brazier flat. In years past, that had been Fang Henian's job. If the ash wasn't level, the man wouldn't light the incense.

Ash smoothed, incense set straight, he stepped back. In years past, at this point Fang Henian would stand before the brazier a while and say something. Sometimes it was "The roof tiles were replaced this year." Sometimes just "Everything's fine." Xu Yan opened his mouth and said one thing: "They're all here." Only then did he bow.

The bronze token pressed against his ribs.

Jiang Wan came up second. She'd taken her sword down and held it in the crook of her arm while she bowed. Cheng Banshan lit his incense one-handed and set it perfectly straight; after planting it, he stood and studied the brazier for a moment. Shao Ming bowed slowly, and when he rose he had to press a hand against his knee to steady himself. Qian Duoduo bowed in a hurry—something was still simmering on the stove. Huo Qing held his sword and managed his three bows with a single hand. Shi Po knelt and the cushion sank a finger's depth into the earth. Bai Xiaoman, Qi Qi, Du Xiaochuan, and A He bowed one after the other.

A Sui knelt the longest. Her three bows done, she stayed down, lips moving, reciting line after line—the formula from Cheng Banshan's yellow paper. A He moved at first, hand reaching to pull her up. Shao Ming glanced over, and the hand came back.

Xu Yan stood under the eaves and waited until she braced herself against the ground and shifted up on her own. Two patches of dust clung to her knees. She looked down, brushed them off, and ran to stand beside A He.

The lacquer on the last tablet still gleamed. Lean close and you could smell it.

At the Horse hour in the Main Hall, two tables stood end to end. Qian Duoduo turned the leftover stewed pork broth into noodle soup, set a separate pot of Spirit Meal going, and one more of coarse-grain rice. Table corner: a dish of pickled vegetables, a small bowl of shelled mountain chestnuts.

Cheng Banshan came in with his gourd in one hand, sat down, poured himself half a bowl, then poured one for Shao Ming. "New Year's. Don't count it as breaking the rules."

"You said that last time." Shao Ming picked it up and drank.

A Sui filled a bowl with rice, pressed two cuts of pork on top, and carried it out. The job had been hers since New Year's Eve. She came running back after, and at the threshold turned to look once before sitting down.

"Sect Master," A He said around his chopsticks, "when do the rules get here?"

"The notice says the tenth day of the First Month."

"The tenth is a market day. The first one." Qian Duoduo said.

"Whether they're delivered or not, we'll see on the tenth." Xu Yan said. "The first market draws crowds. Don't set the pots up in the middle of the road."

From the second to the fourth, no one on the mountain worked. The five still rose before dawn. Jiang Wan called no one; whoever woke, trained on their own.

The fifth was a market day, but no stall went out during New Year's. Qian Duoduo poured the tenth's batch of Spirit Rice into a wooden basin to soak. Xu Yan went into the kitchen to top up the lamp oil and saw the basin. "Soaking already?"

"Five days." Qian Duoduo rubbed the rice between his hands to show him. "This batch was bought on the twenty-fifth day of the Twelfth Month. It's been sitting ten days. Hard. If it doesn't soak through, it steams up half raw. Out of twenty bowls, five won't chew."

"I'm not going down the mountain on the tenth."

Qian Duoduo looked up. "You're not going? First market of the year."

"I'll wait on the mountain for the rules." Xu Yan said. "Shi Po goes with you. He can carry the rice back."

On the tenth, the stall left the mountain before dawn. Qian Duoduo shouldered the pot, Du Xiaochuan carried firewood, A He hugged the basket, A Sui carried the basket of empty bottles, and Shi Po walked in front, empty-handed—he'd carry rice on the way back. The stove fire was banked. The door was left ajar.

Xu Yan sat in the Accounts Room half the day. The Twelfth Month accounts were settled; the First Month page sat empty, and he wrote the date at the top first: the tenth day of the First Month. Halfway through, he slid the half-sheet of red paper out from under the ledger. The ink line at the top was still clear: the tenth day of the First Month. The rules.

Around the Horse hour, footsteps came up the mountain path—unhurried, one step at a time, pausing halfway as if to rest.

By the time he went out, the man already stood beneath the Mountain Gate. Gray-green clothes, trousers soaked to the knees, snowmelt on his shoulders. Nie Bo was sweeping the stone steps inside the gate; his broom paused.

"Sect Master Xu." The man pulled a paper folded in thirds from inside his robe and offered it with both hands. "The rules."

The Dongzhou Branch seal stamped the paper; one soft corner had soaked through from the snowmelt.

"How long were you on the road?"

"Reached Luoxia yesterday. Walked up this morning."

"Have some water."

"No. I have to be down the mountain by dark. There's a cart waiting in Luoxia Town." The man adjusted his sash bag, went down a few steps, then turned back. "Deliver and leave—that's my errand. Not a slight to you."

"Not a slight." Xu Yan said.

The man climbed to the slope, rounded the crooked tree, and was gone. Nie Bo's broom started up again.

Xu Yan stood beneath the Mountain Gate and unfolded the paper, reading from top to bottom. At rule five, he stood still for a moment. In rule six, a name appeared: Meng Ting. He didn't know it. When he folded the paper again, the creases wouldn't line up; one corner stayed bent up.

In the afternoon he brought the paper back to the Accounts Room and copied the dates one by one into the margin of the ledger: The sixteenth day of the First Month. The twenty-fifth through twenty-ninth days of the First Month. The nineteenth day of the Second Month. The twentieth day of the Second Month. The twenty-third day of the Second Month. The third day of the Third Month. When he'd copied them all, he checked them against the page from the top once more.

Before the Monkey hour, the stall came back—empty pots, empty bottles, rattling all the way. Qian Duoduo shouted the moment he entered the Front Courtyard: "Sold out!" The pot had run dry before the Wei hour, and all ten bottles of Qi-Gathering Powder were gone.

"First market of the year. People are willing to spend." Qian Duoduo set the cash box on the kitchen counter. "Lu Shoutian came by. Finished eating, said one thing: the pot's still in the middle of the road."

"What did you say?"

"I said we'd move it next time. He grunted and left."

A He set his basket down. "A rogue cultivator from Linchuan asked whether anyone from town would be going to see that platform on the third day of the Third Month."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said I didn't know, we haven't registered yet." A He scratched his head. "He laughed. Said register or don't, everyone goes to watch."

A while later, Shi Po came up carrying a sack of Spirit Rice, sweat soaked through around the collar. He saw the paper in Xu Yan's hand. "What's that?"

"Rules."

"Rules for what?"

"The Grand Tournament."

Shi Po grunted and carried the rice toward the kitchen.

Before the You hour, the Accounts Room posted the day's entries: the market on the tenth day of the First Month—income: one pot, forty Spirit Stones; ten bottles of Qi-Gathering Powder, thirty stones. Outlay: Spirit Rice, five. Balance on hand: one thousand five hundred seventy-five.

Xu Yan pulled out the red paper and beneath the line "The tenth day of the First Month. The rules." added one more: They arrived.

At the You hour in the Main Hall, both lamps were lit. The tables were pushed against the wall; people sat or stood as they liked. The stall crew had just chugged down water. A Sui leaned against A He, yawning.

Xu Yan spread the paper flat on the table and pinned one corner with the inkstone.

"One. Alliance Year 301, the third day of the Third Month: the Dongzhou Minor Sect Grand Tournament, at the Martial Arena of the Dongzhou Branch, Linchuan City. All Dongzhou sects from Ninth to Seventh Rank may register."

"Two. The sixteenth to twenty-fifth days of the First Month: the Sect Master brings the sect's roster to the Branch office to register, in accordance with the paper roster from the Alliance Year 300 Autumn Evaluation ratings register. Five Registered Disciples are entered. The Branch issues entry slips." He looked up. "Six days from now."

Shao Ming listened, chin lifting slightly, lips moving as if counting something.

"Three. After registration closes: no substitutions. No alternates."

"Four. Within four days of the deadline, any sect may raise an objection to another sect's registration. The Branch holds a hearing. The Chief Evaluator rules."

"Five. Any sect that lures away another sect's disciples is ineligible to compete."

At this line, he paused.

Du Xiaochuan sat on the bench by the door, hands pressed between his knees, head low so the brim of his cap covered half his face. No one in the hall spoke. Charcoal popped in the brazier and threw a single spark, which landed and died.

"Six. Chief Evaluator: Rank Evaluator Wen Su of the Dongzhou Branch. Four ring judges, drawn from Branch stewards. The final-round lot draw will be officiated by ring judge Meng Ting."

When the name Meng Ting was read, no one reacted. Qi Qi raised his head, glanced at the paper, and looked down again.

"Seven. Preliminary rounds: the nineteenth day of the Second Month, lot draw. The twentieth day of the Second Month, first round. The twenty-third day of the Second Month, second round. Finals: the third day of the Third Month, Chen hour lot draw. Top four paired off; the two winners compete for first, the two losers compete for third. If one sect's placement is stricken, the other takes third."

"How does a placement get stricken?" Qian Duoduo raised a hand.

"Pills." Xu Yan said. "It's further down."

"Eight. One match, five bouts. Each side submits a sealed lineup sheet; ring judges open them on the spot. One fighter per bout, three-zhang trial circle, one incense stick. Stepping out of the ring, being downed and unable to rise, or conceding counts as a loss. If the incense burns out without a decision, the ring judge rules. First to three bout wins takes the match. A bout with no fighter to field is forfeit—counts as a loss. Magic Implements, talismans, and Formation Banners are permitted. No medicine may be taken on the field."

At "three-zhang trial circle," Jiang Wan laid her sword flat across her knees. "Same circle as the Nine-Rank Trial."

Shi Po, standing by the wall, lowered both hands, voice very low. "One incense stick."

A Sui traced the size of a circle on A He's leg with her hand. She studied her own tracing, then traced it a little bigger.

Bai Xiaoman's fingers moved inside her sleeves, one by one, tallying something.

Cheng Banshan unhooked the gourd from his waist and took a drink before speaking. "This rule's a good one."

"Which one?"

"No medicine on the field." He stoppered the gourd and hung it back on his belt. "Spirit-Surging elixirs—the power you borrow, you don't pay back."

"Nine. Before each bout, the ring judge personally inspects the body. If the Chief Evaluator sees reason for doubt, she may come down and inspect personally; her inspection is final. Any fighter confirmed to have taken a Spirit-Surging elixir: that bout ruled a loss, that sect's placement stricken, recorded in the file."

He read this rule slower than the ones before. When he'd finished, he pressed the paper down with his palm.

"Ten. The top three are promoted one rank without trial. The Chief Evaluator writes the promotion documents on the spot, enters them in the ratings register, effective the same day."

"How much is one rank?" Qian Duoduo asked.

"Eighth Rank." Xu Yan said.

Qian Duoduo wiped his hands twice on his apron and didn't ask again. Huo Qing's eyes dropped to the floor; one finger tapped his sword sheath once and stilled.

"Eleven. During the tournament, each sect receives six sleeping berths in the guest quarters behind the arena. Meals are self-provided."

"Self-provided." Qian Duoduo picked up the tail of it. "Then I'll bake flatbread. Flatbread doesn't care if it's cold."

The reading was done. Xu Yan folded the paper and put it away.

"Fifty-three days until the third day of the Third Month."

"Five fighters." Jiang Wan said.

Qian Duoduo repeated it, counting off towards people on his fingers. Halfway through, his finger stopped in midair. "So who fights?"

"We'll discuss it in the Main Hall tomorrow." Xu Yan said. "Once it's registered, no changes. No substitutions."

The hall went quiet. Bai Xiaoman plucked at her cuffs twice. Qi Qi, in the corner, nudged his chair back.

Shao Ming's hand had been resting on the edge of the table. He slid it forward half a foot, whole palm pressed flat against the surface, body lifting half an inch.

Cheng Banshan didn't look at him. "Don't stand up yet."

Shao Ming's hand lowered again. His fingertips had pressed a small red patch into the tabletop.