The receding water left the floor of Entry hall 312 coated in a slick, yellowish veneer of skin-burning silt, smelling of brimstone, wet stone, and scorched copper.
Qiao Ming returned to the dry banded limestone terrace where his cedar chest sat undisturbed. He peeled off his torn inner tunic, which was soaked in acidic salt water, and cast it aside upon the flags. From a small clay jug of clean rainwater, he poured a steady stream over his arms, chest, and bare legs, washing away the biting acid before it could eat into the skin.
The cold water stung his bruised ribs and the raw patches on his calves, but he didn’t flinch. Pain was merely another water-mapping datum—an indication of physical wear that needed immediate upkeep.
From his tin of sheep fat, he scooped out two fingers of white grease and rubbed it vigorously into his bare feet, his knees, and his calloused palms. For forty-three years, deep-sea mapmakers had prepared their bodies against full-body VR freezing sickness and salt water rot with this exact mixture. Mutton fat rendered three times and blended with powdered sulfur and bees-resin. The grease formed an impermeable, waxy barrier against the cold salt water, sealing his cracked skin against the salt and preventing the acid-silt from biting into his tissue.
