On the third morning, Pei Jing tried the stance again. He had barely extended his right fist when he felt his sleeve hang loose at the wrist. He lowered the arm and looked. The flesh between the bones had sunk since he’d started soul practice.
In a day and a half he had used far more food than he had eaten. He had already been eating short meals to make the supplies last through the climb. He kept to those portions on the peak even after the work began costing more than he had planned. His body had started burning its own flesh to keep the fires going. If he kept practicing on the same meals, it would take from his bones next.
Pei Jing put on his coat and climbed back up the chimney. The summit wind cut straight through the hemp. Two miles below, a small lake lay in a hollow on the northern side of the ridge. He took the path toward it with the Bone Blade on his back.
Blue ice covered the lake. Pei Jing turned the blade around and brought its heavy butt down on the ice. A round plug broke loose and sank into the black water. He dipped an iron pot through the opening and lifted it full. Cold stung his palms through the handle as he carried it back up the ridge.
