Pei Jing had allowed two nights for the western ravine. As he finished the first pylon, he saw he could do the rest that same night. The first pylon took two hours. The next five went faster. Once he knew how the old cloud runes handed their load from one channel to the next, he knew what to listen for at each pillar. Six hours after he began, all six were dark, and dawn hadn’t broken yet. The excess charge had gone east. He could feel the change in the water beneath his feet.
That left the Southern Bamboo Vale. The valley lay between the second and third peaks. Giant bamboo rose sixty feet from black clay. Rotting leaves covered the mud, and spiders had strung webs between the stalks. Above them, the dome drew water out of the earth and sent it back down as fog.
On the second night, Pei Jing followed the map to a mossy shrine. Rainwater and dead beetles filled its cracked offering bowls. Under the floorboards, a round bronze hatch covered a narrow shaft.
He laid his palm on the cover and sent a little blade intent through it. Something gave with a dull thump. He lifted the hatch and set it among the ferns. Warm air came out smelling of sulfur and boiled silt.
