The afternoon sun slanted across the cedar table. That turned the steam rising from the tea bowls into ribbons of golden dust.
Xiao Qing leaned forward, her elbows planted on the wooden planks, fully forgetting her terror. Her apron smelled of crushed peach leaves and damp soil. Her braid was tied with a simple strand of blue cotton string.
Beside her, Lin Ke was drawing a simple, elegant diagram with a piece of chalk on a flat grey slate.
He didn’t speak of ancient dragon-spirits, esoteric karma, or the will of ancient ancestors.
He spoke of heat.
He spoke of fluid drag, the spreading of freezing water, and the natural heat padding of cork bark.
“Think of the tree like a small water wheel,” Lin Ke explained, his voice low, steady, and gentle. “When the cold air sweeps down the mountain, the water inside the outer twigs slows down. If the water stops moving, it forms ice crystals that act like tiny iron wedges, splitting the delicate blood-vessel walls from the inside out.”
Xiao Qing chewed her lip, nodding slowly. “So if we keep the sap moving, it can’t freeze?”
