Pei Jing had packed ten days of hard pemmican and a flagon of mineral broth. His hands had started shaking once during the hunt when he put off a meal. He split the food into ten bundles and put two extra portions by the flagon. If he had to start over, there wouldn’t be enough to try again.
He put the first bundle on the table where he could reach it without getting up. The knife stuck in the oily brick. That was how he knew the fat hadn’t melted out on the climb. He chewed a little and left the rest for the first long stretch.
At midnight he could still hear the siege through the rock. The shake from the last blow traveled down the legs of the table. He waited for it to pass before he put both hands on his dantian. All ten days had to fit around the war. The war would keep no time for him.
Pei Jing reached for the cold neck of the lead gourd to his south. He twisted the seal free. A thin red flame rose in front of him.
“Day One,” he said. “Let’s lay the foundation stone.”
