Thunder Cliff rose three thousand feet from the northern edge of the Black Marsh. Floods and lightning had stripped the soil away. In places the rock went up almost straight, dark and smooth as glass.
Rain poured off Pei Jing’s bamboo hat. He put his boots in his pack and tightened the straps. Iron cables had done little for the cultivators who’d tried them on this mountain. Pei Jing meant to use his hands, the few pitons he carried, and the hold he could get from the Chaos Root.
He reached up to a crack three feet above his head. The stone was cold and shook faintly beneath his fingers. Veins of lodestone ran through the cliff. The whole mountain seemed to pull at the iron on his belt.
Lightning struck a spur six hundred feet above him. White and violet light laid every crack bare. The thunder hit his chest a moment later. He held on and found a little lip of quartz with his toes.
Then he began to climb.
He moved one hand or foot at a time. Earth qi hardened his fingertips. Where the rock gave him nothing to grip, he could press his nails into a patch of softer stone and make room for his fingers.
