Divine sense poured out of the private boxes. Pei Jing felt the streams cross the hall, some sharp with cold, others hot enough to make the brass rails hum. They all reached for the pill in Feng’s tongs.
The twelve mirrors under the roof flashed. Six-sided screens rose around the jade stand and threw the probes back. The noise shook the windows.
“Restrain your divine sense,” the auctioneer called. “The next probe to breach the ward will answer to the Nine-Sky Leyline Formation.”
The pressure eased. The last few threads drew back into the upper boxes.
Elder Gu stood with both hands on the rail. His face had gone pale.
“The Great Yu royal cauldron could make a pill that clean,” he said. “It took centuries of heavenly fire. And you want me to believe a man with no sect furnace made thirty?”
“Swordmaster Ye Qinghan witnessed the assay,” Feng said. “These tongs have served the Pavilion since it opened. You can question my reading if you like. You can also look at the flask.”
He tilted the mouth a little. A white thread slipped down the stand and spread across the floor. The smell of oil and ambergris went out of the first few rows.
