The work of filling sixty star-iron casks with sky dew was brutal, exhausting. Then he soaked in the rhythmic discipline of physical labor.
Each cask was a heavy, barrel-shaped container forged from cold-rolled star-iron, banded with three-ply hoops of hardened brass. Designed in the founding era to transport volatile potion-made solvents across land-wide distances, each barrel could hold two hundred gallons of liquid while maintaining an airtight, pressure-sealed empty pocket.
Tie Shan hoisted the empty casks from the wall racks two at a time. He carried them across the flooded floor as easily as if they were dry bamboo baskets.
Thud. Thud.
He set them beneath the backup sampling petcock at the base of the pipe hub. There, a four-inch brass spout poured a solid, crystal-clear stream of pure sapphire dew directly into the bungholes.
The star-iron casks clanged against the jade floor with a heavy, hollow deep ring that echoed through the vast cathedral. Each barrel was an antique relic of the founding era. It was stamped with the ancient seal of the First Alchemical Pavilion and banded with cold-drawn brass hoops that had resisted eight hundred years of damp cellar storage. As the fragrant sapphire dew poured into the bungholes, tiny, glowing motes of sky light drifted upward like fireflies, lighting up the sweat on Tie Shan’s brow in warm, golden tones.
