Red Mist Valley smelled of sulfur, wet limestone, and dried beast bile. Beneath stained oilcloth awnings, cultivators moved through the narrow lanes with their shoulders hunched. Many had hollow cheeks and gray skin. They would trade away months of their lives to pay for a cave another month.
Twelve days had passed since Ghost-Eye Mountain. Pei Jing came back to the valley to buy supplies for the dragon hunt and see what a ready-made Foundation Establishment Pill would cost him. Rain tapped the brim of his bamboo hat. He had moved the Gale Burst bracer to his right arm while the sword cut on his left healed. All twelve needles were in place. The twenty-two-pound Cloud-Splitter rode across his back in oiled sheepskin.
He stopped at the Golden Cauldron Pavilion, a three-story building of black river stone. A bronze cauldron and an iron cloud marked it as part of the Cloud Mist Sect’s trading guild. A ward pushed the wet chill three feet back from the door.
Two guards at Layer Eight stood in lacquered armor with their hands on their swords. The left guard turned his boot outward to spare an old ankle injury. The other leaned forward, ready to lunge. His breath carried the smell of a cheap pill gone bad.
