Gui had hung the ironwood door on greased bronze pivots. It swung inward without a groan. Cool air passed over Pei Jing’s face. It smelled like clean limestone, with none of the sulfur or mold he’d breathed in the outer tunnels.
He stayed outside. A man who hid poison in a lock would leave something for whoever got through it.
Pei Jing checked the Black Mountain Whetstone in its oilskin pocket, then took a pine splinter and dipped it in his vial of glowing moss. The tip lit up as faintly as a firefly. He held it low and moved it along the doorframe. Clean green stone lay across the threshold. Moving air had kept even the dust off it.
At chest height, a strand of dark horsehair crossed the entrance. Pei Jing followed it to a recess in the right wall. A steel crossbow waited there with four bolts in its rail. The fourteen-inch bolts had dark green resin on their points.
The Ledger gave him the rest.
Pei Jing set his tools beside his knee. Gui’s traps could react to a touch or to a line going slack. He left the horsehair alone and worked from the recess until he heard the safety catch click. Then he drew out the bolts one by one.
