An iron club struck the oak door of Cell 114. Dust fell from the stone over the frame.
“Open up, rogue! Golden Sun tax inspection. Count of three and the hinges come down.”
Pei Jing could sense three men outside in the sulfur mist. The leader was Bao, a Qi Gathering Layer Nine veteran with thick shoulders and a scar across his neck. Two younger guards wore yellow silk tabards over boiled leather. One carried a fish-oil torch. The other had an iron chain whip looped around his arm.
President Wan Jinbao called these men a tax squad. The city judges let the Golden Sun Guild collect whatever it wanted from the Lower Mire. Independent craftsmen paid up or went to the dredgers.
Pei Jing could have used the bracer through the door. Then Captain Meng Kui would come with a Foundation Establishment squad. The judges could seal the whole sector with the Star-Suppressing Array. He’d spend his last days of training looking for another workshop.
He smeared a little yellow root powder on his cheek. He let his shoulders sag, put his weight on his left hip, and made his breath rattle. The bracer stayed under his sleeve.
He slid back the bolt and opened the door three inches. Torchlight spilled through the crack.
