The first push from the scar came while Pei Jing was still trying to stand. His left heel lifted, and the note in the mountain disappeared. He caught himself on the staff. One of the stones he had wedged into the edge of the plateau fell away.
He set the staff aside. Then he put his bare palm against the seam and drew his heel in until it stood over the same line. The mountain took his weight. The little soul moved when his own bones moved. The pressure no longer slipped between them.
A five-colored lotus opened in his dantian. The Ledger recorded the change. Early Soul Formation. Pei Jing stopped feeding the field and listened. It stayed in the mountain as long as he kept his weight on the rock over the seam. When he stepped clear, it failed. He could use it here. He could not carry it into the air after the court.
Below him, the last shelter sent up a green lantern. The road was clear. He put on his shoes, slid the whetstone into his pocket, and looked up. Gold light was coming through the scar.
