The Grand White Jade Stairway rose through the pines from the valley to the lower terraces. Each step was a foot high and four feet deep. Mortals bringing charcoal, firewood or salted fish had to climb the muddy donkey paths unless they had special permission. The jade was for students, guests and the elder council’s palanquins.
Pei Jing walked up the middle of it, one step every two seconds. His sandals made a hard sound that came back from the granite on both sides.
The cold wind had found its way down here now that the dome was gone. As he passed the fiftieth step, he could see the founding patriarch’s story carved into the rail. There he was with his blade in a river dragon. Farther up, he sent men from the steppes running. Then the rulers of heaven placed a golden seal in his hands.
Partway up, Pei Jing brushed his thumb over a line of old characters.
Those who cultivate the Dao transcend the dust. Those who dwell in dust serve the Dao.
At fifteen he had asked his father why the mountain took three-quarters of the iron they smelted every winter while their cousins froze in Cloudford. His father had put a hand on his shoulder.
