The bedrock of Mount Taiyi was not uniform granite. It was shot through with thick veins of pressure-sparking quartz and black magnetic iron.
Lin Tao knelt at the southern rim of the plateau, his knees resting on the frost-dusted rock. He had stripped his heavy wool gloves, exposing his calloused hands to the sub-zero wind. The cold bit into his skin with needle-sharp intensity, but he needed tactile care. With his right thumb, he traced the jagged line of an ancient ground-shaking crack that ran straight toward the central pylon.
Beside him, the brass casing of his fine measuring tongs gleamed under the pale, high-sky sun.
Lin Tao placed the tip of his star-white-gold metal pen into the fissure. The HUD in his left eye flashed a string of blue readouts, calculating the spark flow pushback of the mountain root.
“One hundred and forty-two ohms per meter,” Lin Tao muttered. His breath condensed in tiny puffs that froze instantly against the brass casing of his compass. “The dark rock crust is surprisingly resistive. If lightning strikes this plateau directly, the charge will pool on the surface for several split seconds before finding a path to ground. That surface pooling is what gives sky-trial lightning its terrifying explosive power.”
