The check courtyard of the Royal Alchemical Conclave smelled of scorched copper and animal fat.
At the center of the soapstone pavilion stood a three-legged bronze fire bowl four paces wide. Its outside carved with waved dragon motifs whose open jaws served as air vents. Inside the belly of the vessel, a bed of white-hot spirit coal burned without smoke, streaming a dry, blistering heat that shone in the morning air like liquid glass.
Deacon Pang, a corpulent man with narrow rat-like eyes and greasy fingers stained with red stone, sat behind a low rosewood desk.
Beside him, two junior alchemists in yellow tunics held copper water basins and rolls of damp silk bandages. Every few minutes, a rejected applicant stumbled away from the fire bowl. He grabbed blistered hands to their chest while weeping from the painful pain of heat flash burns.
“Failure!” Deacon Pang barked, striking a small hand bell with his brush handle. “Spiritual intuition fully misaligned! You pushed the flame toward the northern dragon vent while the southern exhaust was cold! Drag him away!”
Two burly temple laborers hauled the screaming youth out of the courtyard.
Lin Tao stood sixth in the queue, observing the testing procedure with sharp test focus.
