Tier 3: The Deep Mountain Soak was where the serious, meditative heat lived.
Kept at a precise forty-one point five degrees of aromatic stone warmth, its cedar-lined waters radiated a deep, pervasive warmth that hovered just below the scorching threshold of Tie Shan’s plunge. Aromatic terpenes rose thick from the lightning-hardened storm-cedar staves. It filled the enclosed cedar row of stone pillars with a heavy, soothing mist that smelled of balsamic resin, rain-washed earth, and sweet bitter pine-resin.
Gu Qingfeng was underwater up to his throat.
The legendary Sword Saint of the Azure Realm—the man whose formless sword intent had split mountain ranges, blocked sky void dreadnoughts. Then he sent shivers down the spines of three ages of traditional patriarchs—sat utterly motionless. His graying hair was tied into a loose topknot secured with a dry pine needle, resting his neck squarely against the contoured 115-degree cedar rim.
His eyes were closed. His weathered, angular face, lined with the scars of five hundred years of wandering warfare, had softened into an expression of deep, almost childlike stillness.
Every breath he drew brought warm, cedar-infused steam deep into his lungs. With every slow breath out, the leftover sword-qi that had buzzed always through his spirit veins since his youth quietly pulled back. It settled into a state of total, calm dormancy.
