Pei Jing took off his robe, folded it and put it beside the canteen. The light from the magma picked out the new bruise across his right shoulder. The scar along his ribs had faded at Thunder Cliff, but Black Dog Xue’s nine-inch cut still marked his back in silver. His collarbone was still sore from turning the falling keel, but he could move it freely again.
He took the Black Mountain Whetstone between his hands. He knew the weight of it and the roughness along the side. If he lost his sense of his body while he was deep in meditation, he could reach for the stone. He remembered sitting by the river outside Cloudford Town with a dull kitchen cleaver. In those days, three copper coins were a day’s pay. He set the whetstone where his hand would find it beside his knee.
Then he arranged the five fires. The lead gourd went to the south. The Earth-Vein Magma Fire inside it would make the base of the core. He put the Glacial Cold-Bone Fire to the north, where it would draw away excess heat. The Wood-Spirit Poison Fire to the east would keep his spirit channels alive as they changed. The Starry Wind-Lightning Fire to the west would put the mass in motion. Last, he set the star-iron sphere right in front of him. Astral Sun Fire would bring the other four together.
