Qi Shenxiao looked down at the dent in his breastplate. The armor had found no trace of a spell on it. The gold had bent under the weight of Pei Jing’s shoulder.
The Judge had fought men who called down lightning and sword masters who sent their blades across whole countries. He had never seen one of them plant both feet in the dirt and take the whole weight of a blow.
“You stay on the ground like a worm,” he said.
“A worm keeps the soil alive,” Pei Jing said. “It’ll still be there after a hawk falls out of the sky.”
The halberd came straight toward his throat. Space split the Judge’s outline into eight images. Gold moved on every side of Pei Jing at once. One reflection turned its shoulders as if it meant to swing. Another came up behind the first with the crescent held high. Only one made the loose grit roll toward it.
He closed his eyes. In the lightless trenches of the Southern Sea, he had learned to find hot springs by what they did to the water around his legs. Here he felt space draw tight on the left side of his neck. He moved toward the one pull the seven false images could not copy.
