The air in the underground stone cellar of the East Wing smelled of stone sulfur, bitter aconite, and melting river ice.
In the center of the vaulted cellar sat two large cedar tubs, each four feet deep and six feet across, resting three paces apart on the damp flat stone slabs.
The left tub was filled with scalding healing water, heated by an iron chimney pipe running from the fire hearth above. The dark amber broth was steeped with crushed mountain ginger, dried safflower, ground bitter pine-resin bark. The strained stone residue of the thirty-year tiger-bone decoction. Steam rose from the surface in thick, fragrant clouds that condensed into heavy beads along the vaulted brick ceiling, dripping steadily into the shadows.
The right tub was filled with mountain spring water hauled from the deep well, packed with floating blocks of jagged river ice cut from the high gorge.
Before entering the water, Pei Jing sat on a low wooden stool beside his cedar tub.
Across his knees lay the Cloud-Splitter Cleaver-Saber.
Beside him on the bench rested the Black Mountain Whetstone in its shallow water tray.
Shhh-clink.
