By the third day, the cave felt like a foundry. The milk in the lotus basin had dropped two inches. What remained shone with a deeper cream color. It was thick enough that a silver coin laid flat on top might stay there.
Pei Jing sat in the milk up to his collarbones. Eight minutes passed between breaths. Under his skin, the old breaks were coming apart.
Black Tiger’s men had left him in a Cloudford gutter with a broken left collarbone and cracked ribs. Those bones had knitted long ago, but the uneven spots still took more than their share of a blow. Now they began to soften.
The fire softened those old ridges. Earth marrow flowed through the gaps, then set in clean layers. Along his ribs, the new bone followed the pull of the muscles between them. His chest felt as if it were taking shape around a row of smooth steel bars.
Pop. Pop.
Two bones in his upper back shifted. He felt his spine straighten a little. Years of lifting and taking blows had pressed those joints together. The earth qi let them settle back into line.
The practice timer reached two hours. The Ledger lit up.
