Sect Year 3 · fifth month · day 6 · Azure Stream Sect, the east gate
A warden had hung a lamp on the arch to keep the wicket lit, though the sun was already clear of the flats and the lamp was only a smudge of yellow against the grey. Gao Wen had walked past the cage to reach the gate. The forty-one turned their heads to watch him come, all of them together, and when he was through the wicket they turned back toward the road as though nothing had come up it.
Lin had seen the whole of it from the top of the wall stair with his coat torn open across the chest. Now he stood in the gate-yard. There, the flags were wet from the night and the trough was still full, and he looked at the man on the barrel.
Gao Wen sat with one bound knee stuck straight out in front of him and a salt-barge pole laid across his thighs like a yoke. His coat was border cloth, dyed the grey of wet stone and patched at both elbows. The left sleeve had been pushed back to the wrist. Down the forearm, under the skin, ran the thread Lin had first read in the tournament ring, the grey track of the Cold Ash. Unbroken Sight made it felt more than seen. It was fainter than it had been. It was still there.
