The second bolt came down like a needle. The first had opened a path through fifty feet of stone, and the second went straight through it.
Pei Jing moved into the Golden Bell Pillar Stance. His feet were six inches apart. His spine lined up over his hips and his chin dropped until the Baihui point at his crown stood in line with the strike.
The black-purple needle hit the top of his head. There was hardly time for a sound.
The skin formed during the first strike held. The lightning went through the line of his skull, past the layer of spirit fat protecting his brain, and down the channel in his spine.
For a moment pain crowded out every thought. Violet light filled his eyes as the current spread through his ribs, shoulders, hips, and thighs. Then it entered the marrow.
Years of eating coarse grain and breathing swamp fumes had left traces of metal and sulfur deep in his bones. Even good spirit herbs had left a little residue. Under the lightning, that waste turned to vapor.
White steam hissed from his nose and ears and at the corners of his eyes. It smelled of sulfur and burned flint. With each breath, he felt less resistance in his bones.
