The silver net dropped upon the head of the Cantor of the Jade Flute with the silent, cruel grace of a spider’s web.
From his vantage seventy arm-lengths above, Qiao Ming watched the glittering mesh settle over the marble brow, draping across the carved eyelids and wrapping tightly around the slender stone flute held to the statue’s lips. The moment the moon-silk touched the stone, a faint, sizzling crackle of spiritual static flared along the fibers, casting a pale, sickly violet light over the cantor’s calm features.
The marble shivered.
It wasn’t a sight illusion born of lantern light. Within the crystal-clear grain of the Carrara marble, the ancient Dao-laws that had been stone-hard for ten thousand years were reacting to the spirit intrusion. The stone flute, which had survived the total floods of three cosmic cycles without a scratch, began to develop tiny white fissures along its finger-holes as the spirit-net sucked the leftover soul-vapor from the deep ring chambers within.
“Draw the bellows!” the student named Hu hissed, his fingers flying across the brass control levers of the jade canister.
The second student threw his weight against the leather suction handles.
Shhh-whufff. Shhh-whufff.
The air-powered pump groaned as its internal bronze pistons engaged. Through the clear quartz viewing window on the side of the canister, a swirling vortex of rainbow-bright azure vapor began to condense into liquid droplets. It pooled at the bottom of the vessel like molten sapphires.
