Chapter 494 — The Door That Sorts

CHAPTER 494

The Door That Sorts

The Empire went in first.

Nobody had agreed to it. At the grey hour before dawn, twenty-four juniors in white and violet walked down the gravel path in two clean columns, and the queue simply parted. The Pavilion wardens stamped twenty-four tokens in the time it took to stamp two.

A young independent loudly protested that there was a queue. It was brave of him, but nobody else supported him.

“Where?” Qu Ming said, without turning his head.

The independent looked at his boots.

“Make way for the guests of heaven,” Qu Ming said. “A mayfly should not try to shake a great tree.”

The stone gate slid open without stopping them. Shi Feng watched the last violet sleeve vanish into the dimness beyond it, and thought: so that is what a pact is worth.

The pact was dead, and the camp knew it. Behind the Empire, hunters and small-sect disciples poured through in a loose stream, three hundred or more, with no slots and no order. The wardens stamped what they could and gave up.

The three Great Sects waited. An hour later the sun cleared the ridge, and Mu Shuyun gave the Valley the word to go in the old order anyway. A pact was torn, she said, but manners weren't.

Hundred Flower Valley went first, thirty in green. Mu Shuyun stood at the silver line with her hands in her sleeves, having given her own slot to a disciple. Martial Palace followed, thirty in crimson, very quiet. Then the six independents, who had drawn their lots that morning and still didn't believe them.

The Artificer Hall came last, twelve of them. Pei Gang, the oldest of the inner-court seniors, kept straightening his belt. Gongsun Ce carried a pack of folded puppets and the look of a man who had bet on his own survival.

A warden held out his hand for Shi Feng's token.

Shi Feng handed his over. The warden stamped it, looked at his face, and then looked again.

The warden quietly asked whether he was the one with the invoices.

“Sometimes,” Shi Feng replied, taking back his stamped token.

The warden pleaded with him not to bill the Ruin.

Sima Lan stood at his shoulder in her grey attendant's robe, sleeves tied back, slate hanging from her belt on a cord. The tally wall outside his tent had been updated at the fourth watch.

“Rules,” Sima Lan said.

“Go ahead,” Shi Feng told Sima Lan, waiting for her rules.

“Anything you find, I log. Anything you break, I log,” Sima Lan said. “If we're separated, don't waste time looking for me.” She paused. “I will find you. I charge for finding.”

“And if I find you?” Shi Feng asked, meeting her eyes.

“That would be an unexpected expense,” Sima Lan replied, refusing to sound worried.

Someone stopped on his other side. Gu Zhan, who had let the other five independents go ahead, stood there in plain grey, with a spear across his back and nobody beside him.

“Shi Feng,” Gu Zhan said.

“Gu Zhan,” Shi Feng greeted him.

“Again,” Gu Zhan said. “When this is over.”

“Agreed,” Shi Feng replied, pleased by the straightforward invitation.

That was the whole conversation. Shi Feng found, a little to his surprise, that he'd have liked it longer.

On the rock outside the silver line, a basket of sweet potatoes on his hip, Lin Langtian lifted a hand in a cheerful wave. His eyes rested for one moment on the gate where the Empire had gone. Then they were friendly again.

The wardens stepped back. Beyond the gate lay a vast dim hall with nine archways in a ring, each one the colour of a different dusk. Cold air breathed out of it, smelling of old dust and rain on slate.

“Nine doors,” Pei Gang whispered. “Which one do we—”

The floor lit up.

A pale ring of light ran out from the threshold and caught everyone at once, from the first Valley disciple to the last Hall senior. Shi Feng felt something take hold of his qi, gently but too firmly to resist. The air bent.

Ling Qingzhu vanished first. He saw her among the Valley's green, her veil folded back, her thumb pressed to her sleeve. She turned her head as if to say something, and the light took her mid-turn. Su Wanning's squeak cut off a breath later.

Gu Zhan went next. He didn't flinch. He only gripped the shaft of his spear, and the ring swallowed him whole.

“Shi Feng,” Sima Lan said, close behind him.

“Here,” Shi Feng answered at once.

“If you die, the contract lapses,” Sima Lan said. “I dislike lapses.”

Her hand brushed his sleeve. For one heartbeat the touch was real. Then the light broke over her shoulders and she was gone, slate and all. The Hall's twelve scattered after her, Pei Gang with a gasp, Gongsun Ce with a muttered curse.

Shi Feng stood alone in the glowing ring.

“Count your fingers!” Lin Langtian's voice called from the gate, small and far away.

The hall tilted and spun. Then solid stone came up under his boots.

Cold wind carried the smell of rain across the stone.

He drew the grey Sword and waited for his eyes to adjust. He stood on a long causeway of grey stone, old beyond anything he had seen in Great Liang, with a low wall on either side like the walls of a corridor that had lost its roof. Past the wall there was only pale sky. No footsteps. No voices. Behind him, a blank wall.

Ahead, the causeway was covered in broken weapons.

Swords snapped at the hilt. Spears with cracked heads. A crimson sash, torn. A Valley hairpin lying in the dust. Every blade wore the plain grey tassel of a regional sect, and every belt pouch among them had been cut open and emptied. Whoever robbed them had discarded the damaged weapons and empty pouches in a long line.

Someone had come this way before him, and had met the hunters who rushed in ahead. They had taken everything of value and left whatever weighed more than it sold for.

Shi Feng crouched and picked up a snapped sabre. The break was clean. A blue-white scorch ran along the edge.

Thunder Abyss, he thought. They had passed through an hour ago, and they hadn't even hurried.