The scent of damp wool and dry soot filled the third-floor corridor at noon the following day.
In the rear charcoal alcove, Kaelen had already shed his broom and his custodial blindfold. He lay stretched out on the thick felt rugs, a battered straw hat tilted low over his nose to shield his eyes from the high ceiling lamps.
On his chest, rising and falling with his slow, rhythmic breathing, rested the paper-bound cover of Book 2 of The Bandit King’s Secret Bride.
The Fallow Slate ticked silently behind his closed eyelids:
[The Fallow Slate — Stage 4: Quad-Track] [Track 3 (Alchemy Refinement): 144h 00m (Multiplier: 145x)] [Track 4 (Dao & Array Comprehension): 144h 00m (Multiplier: 145x)] [Track 1 (Cultivation): 144h 00m (Multiplier: 145x)] [Track 2 (Martial Combat): 144h 00m (Multiplier: 145x)] [Current High-Grade Spirit Stone Reserve: 12,200 HSS]
One hundred and forty-four hours, Kaelen thought, completely relaxed. Six full days. The day is quiet, the charcoal is dry, and nobody has tried to teach me fire poetry for thirty-six hours.
Then a soft rustle of silk slippers drifted from the marble archway.
The air in the pill hall grew faintly cool, touched by the delicate scent of crushed winter-mint and wild mountain plum blossoms.
