Chapter 8: The Treaty on a Napkin

Mian read the top paper under the lamp.

QUARTERLY REPORT OF THE DISCIPLINE HALL, it said, in Shouyi's perfect brush. Year one of the new count. Senior Yan Shouyi, Core Formation, steady.

Under it, in large round letters, a red stamp and a signature that said Ruan Bo.

He read the next one, and the next one.

They all said Core Formation, steady.

"Twenty-four quarters," said Shouyi.

He was still sitting on the floor with his hands flat on his knees.

"Six years."

"And you're not Core Formation."

"I am late Foundation. I have been late Foundation for six years."

"What happened?"

Shouyi looked at the ceiling for a while.

"I was to break through at the ceremony," he said. "The elders came to watch."

"There were forty of them in the hall. I sat down in the middle and took a breath to begin."

"And?"

"I sneezed."

Mian stared at him.

"The qi went out through my nose," said Shouyi. "It was audible. Someone said bless you."

"Someone said..."

"The senior elder. He meant it kindly."

Mian put his hand over his mouth.

"It was the worst moment of my life," said Shouyi, without any change of expression.

"I have not been able to draw a full breath in front of another person since."

"My qi stops, and nothing I do can start it."

"The sect master needed a Core Formation Discipline senior. I wrote that I was one. She signed it."

"She knew?"

"From the first quarter. She said the sect could not afford the truth."

"She also could not afford to lose a man who never took leave."

Mian was shaking.

It began in his shoulders and went down to his knees.

A squeak got out of him, and then he was laughing, with his back against the iron chest and tears running down his face.

"You sneezed," he wheezed. "You sneezed and everybody said bless you."

"It is not funny."

"It is the funniest thing I have ever heard."