The fissure opened into a chamber thirty paces wide and forty deep. Its roof rose forty feet above the floor. Water had shaped the cave for ten thousand years, leaving pale folds of stone that hung like curtains. Quartz shone in the walls. Drops along the high ledges caught the light and split it into bands of blue and gold.
The air was still and mild. Pei Jing could smell no sulfur, burned stone, or rotting peat.
A terrace of clear limestone rose in the middle of the cave. Above it hung a stalactite six feet across and twenty feet long. Deep grooves narrowed to a point four feet above the terrace. The tip looked like an open eye.
A thick white drop formed at its pupil. It hung there for three seconds, then fell.
Plip.
The note carried around the chamber like a silver coin dropped into oil.
The basin below looked like a lotus cut from white spar. Its rim was six feet across, and its petals sloped into a narrow hollow three feet deep. Three small barrels’ worth of glowing white liquid filled it almost to the brim. The drop sent a ring of light across the surface. It took twenty seconds to fade. A thin layer of mist hovered over the milk.
