The empty heavy clay tea bowl rested safely upon the flat surface of the granite boulder. It caught the soft morning light.
Yan Zixuan stepped backward from Sword Saint Gu Qingfeng and bowed until his forehead was level with his knees. It wasn’t the fearful prostration of a defeated soldier begging for mercy. It was the solemn, timeless bow of an apprentice honoring a true master who had shown him the shape of his own soul.
Gu Qingfeng chuckled softly, waving a patched hemp sleeve as he picked up his chipped wine gourd. “Enough bowing, young master. You’ll wear out the knees of your trousers before you ever reach the top. Go on. The little blue fellow upstairs doesn’t like to be kept waiting when the sun is warm and the fruit is ripe.”
Yan Zixuan rose, straightened his gray linen tunic, and turned toward the white jade stairs.
The ninety-nine steps rose through the thinning mountain mist like a frozen waterfall of glowing moonstone. With each pace he took, the feathery bamboo of Floor 99 pulled back below, until the entire grove looked like a peaceful green emerald floating upon a sea of milk-white clouds.
The air grew astonishingly light and pure. It carried neither the biting chill of the upper troposphere nor the rotten-egg heat of the fiery forge floors. Instead, every breath tasted of wild mountain honey and fresh morning dew. He carried a gentle life-force that seemed to permeate his bones with easy ease. His Golden…
