The border gate stood beneath a red light that turned the rain the color of rust. Beyond it, a barrier ran along the valley rim, bright enough to paint the low clouds. The road from the capital had taken a week. Yan felt it in the grit on his boots and in the way Bai kept rubbing his shoulder beneath the pack strap.
“Cleaner walls,” Bai said, looking up at the soot-streaked gate. “Worse manners.”
Gu glanced at him. “You complained about both yesterday.”
“Yesterday’s walls were cleaner.”
Yan laughed and looked past them toward the valley. Small towns clustered along the road beneath the barrier. A school bell sounded somewhere down the slope. A cart rolled toward the gate, drawn by a thin gray horse. The driver’s beard was silver, but the face above it looked young.
Yan watched the man turn the cart. His back was bent beneath the water barrels.
“Does the furnace age everyone?” he asked Qinghe.
“We need more than a glance to know,” she said. “But something has taken strength from him.”
