Entry hall 208 was an underground high-pressure junction carved into the living slate three deep-water lengths below the transverse spirit vein.
Here, thirty-six green rust-crusted bronze channels came together into a central spreading water tank twelve paces wide. The air was cold, thick with the sharp tang of stone salts and the low, hollow echo of deep drain tube currents. Moisture dripped steadily from the ceiling vaults, each drop falling into the black water below with a clear, liquid chime that echoed across the ribbed stone ceiling.
Qiao Ming stood upon the narrow upkeep narrow high walkway overlooking the spreading water tank. His bare calloused feet gripped the damp dark rock flags with practiced ease, feeling the minute shakes of the underground pipes through the soles of his feet.
Behind him, the distant clamor of the outer sect vanguard was growing louder. After their panic in the elliptical nave of Entry hall 204, Commander Gao had rallied his surviving students. They drove them westward along the transverse supply hall. The heavy crunch of iron-shod boots against wet gravel and the harsh, hurried commands of the squad leaders echoed through the stonework like the scraping of dull chisels.
They were forty paces away, funneling into the lower transverse gallery.
