Magic charm paper was only temporary parchment.
Meng Shan sat up on the check slab. Then, peeling flakes of grey stone rind from his chest, two of the lead-red stone magic charms began to curl at the corners, soaked with sound back-draft.
“The paper will fail within forty-eight hours,” Lin Ke said, inspecting the greasy lead residue. “When the paper disintegrates, the old family listener in your marrow will re-bind to the bell.”
Meng Shan swung his massive legs over the edge of the stone table. The floor trembled beneath his weight.
“Tell me what to do,” Meng Shan said, his voice deep as a dry well. “I’ll not let them haul my brothers into the scrap carts.”
“You have to re-forge and re-temper your channels,” Lin Ke said.
Apothecary He dropped his wooden mortar. He stared at Lin Ke like he had lost his mind. Re-temper?”
“They are scrap iron,” Lin Ke said flatly. “Meng Shan’s earth channels aren’t delicate silk threads like traditional fighters have. They’re wide-bore channel pipes. If we coat the inside walls with a dense dark rock glaze, the ringing hum will slide right through without catching.”
