The silence inside the bedroom was total.
A single rectangle of cold, blue moonlight fell through the paper window lattice, lighting up the dark cedar floorboards and the edge of Pei Jing’s wooden cot.
Pei Jing sat cross-legged on the split-cedar plank, his back straight, his hands resting lightly upon his knees. His chin was lowered toward his chest, his eyes half-closed in deep-belly dormancy.
His resting pulse was thirty-six beats per minute.
His systolic blood pressure had dropped by thirty percent, the body-energy breath flow diverted into his gut-deep organs. That left his skin cool and dry.
Outside the window, a sliver of polished steel gleamed in the moonlight.
Sssk.
A razor-thin blocking stiletto sliced through the mulberry paper of the lattice.
