Sect disciples fasted for seven days before a breakthrough. They drank spring water and chewed bitter pine needles, certain an empty stomach would make their spirit pure.
Pei Jing was about to force open his dantian and expand it tenfold. Every nerve and blood vessel would be under strain. If he went in hungry, his body would run out of fuel before the trial was over.
He cleared the work area. He scrubbed Gui’s cauldron with hot water and a horsehair brush until the bronze shone green. The cauldron, the scales, and the spare flasks went into his Cloud-Silk storage pouch.
From the cold part of the pouch he took ten pounds of dragon backstrap. It smelled like cold mountain venison with a trace of iron. Threads of white fat ran through the dark meat. They held three hundred years of water and earth qi.
While the pills were forming, he’d used the extra dragon bones for five pints of marrow broth. None of that had come from the twelve pounds set aside for the brew. He drank the broth while he roasted the meat over hardwood coals, seasoned it with rock salt and mountain pepper, and turned the spit until it was crisp outside and rare in the middle.
