At the fifth watch, the hum of the Star-Suppressing Array changed. Daylight reached the upper terraces. In the Underground Flues, morning meant the drains opening and a rush of oily water carrying the smell of spent medicine.
Pei Jing rose before the first bell ended. He moved through the Bone-Tempering Method by the weak light in the flue. His spine popped like dry bamboo, and warmth from the nine-zhang pool in his Dantian kept the damp from his ribs. He worked each joint from ankle to neck.
At the table, he checked his travel gear. The cleaver went along his back. He took five mid-grade stones and the hundred and seventy low-grade he still had free to spend. He still owed the smith six at delivery. He had left the Gale Burst needles wrapped in the cell. He wanted the bracer slots clear while he measured the new blanks.
He touched up the cleaver with three passes on the Black Mountain Whetstone. Then he checked the little alarms, slid back the bolts, and locked Cell 114 behind him.
By midmorning, three thousand people had crowded into the talisman quarter. Wet awnings sagged above them. Yellow slips hung from cords like skins out to dry. The whole place smelled of ash, glue, and sweat.
