The aqueduct smelled like vinegar. Ten feet above the walkway, hundreds of centipedes hung from the mortar joints. Their orange legs stayed curled against the stone.
The one above Pei Jing began to peel away from the ceiling. It was as thick as a man’s forearm and two and a half feet long. The pits in its white ghost-eye could pick up a little warmth even through the cold mud covering his neck.
A shout, a flash of qi, or the ring of his cleaver would wake the whole colony. Pei Jing stayed still. He already held a four-inch cold-iron needle, sharpened against the Black Mountain Whetstone.
The last of its hooks let go. The body dropped through the dark. Pei Jing waited until its pale eye was level with his own. It was inches away when the pincers opened. Clear venom hung from their tips.
Pei Jing flicked the needle with a finger. It slipped through the soft spot below the ghost-eye. The pincers snapped shut, and the legs went still. He caught the two-pound body in his other hand before it touched the floor.
Nothing dropped after it. A few feelers stirred in the draft. The rest of the colony stayed asleep.
