The blindness of the first student was only the opening movement of the safe hall’s defense.
High on the narrow high walkway, Qiao Ming gripped the cast-iron spokes of the upper water tank scupper wheel. The wheel was four feet in width, coated in a thick, protective layer of boiled sheep fat that parted cleanly under his calloused palms.
With two powerful, rhythmic heaves of his back, he spun the wheel three full revolutions to the left.
Clack-clack.
Inside the stonework inner wall behind the narrow high walkway, a six-foot bronze water gate lifted from its oak doorstep.
From the high reserve water tank of Entry hall 178—holding forty thousand tuns of fresh rainwater collected from the upper cloud-track—a packed cascade of clear water plunged into the upright sound chimney pipes that honeycombed the walls of the tiered arena.
The water did not drown the floor. It was channeled through eighty upright terracotta pipes cut with spiral rifling grooves, transforming the falling liquid into a huge sound siren.
WHUUUURRRRRRRR.
