Lan looked at her left arm, and that was when she registered the source of her pain. It looked as though someone had cleaved open jagged strips of her flesh, then stitched them back together. Salve glistened on her skin, mingling with blood. In the midst of it all, though, was the pale scar of her mother’s Seal.
She touched her fingers to it, relieved. With the intrusive metalwork in her arm gone, she found, her head was clearer and her senses were more at peace than they had been in a long time. She closed her eyes and tuned in to the strands of qì flowing around her like the vivid colors of a brushstroke—ofmusic.
That music was everywhere: in the guttering of the candle flame, the sough of wind against the pines, the gurgle of pond water outside and the sigh of air inside the chamber. It flowed past her and all around her, strings of melodies she could reach out and touch, call out to.
Light footsteps, and a familiar face appeared, its edgessoftened by the flickering lamplight. She found that if she concentrated, she could almosthearhis qì: the gentle trickle of river water, the clear chime of a bell, the clink of a spoon against a porcelain bowl.
Shàn’jun sat by her kàng. He raised a bowl to her face. “Drink this,” he said softly. “It will lessen the pain.”
With his help, she sat up and took the bowl from him. It was pungently bitter, but she detected no scent of the sedative he’d given her earlier. The hot broth burned all the way down to her stomach. “Come to greet me with your worm soup again?” she said with a crooked smile.
Shàn’jun returned it, but she could sense there was something wrong. “Always.”
As the clarity to her thoughts returned, so did her memories. “Shàn’jun,” she said. “When I arrived, I had with me an instrument of sorts. An ocarina, with a carving of a lotus on it. Have you seen it?”
He set the bowl down on her bedside cabinet, then took out a roll of gauze from his hemp satchel and began to wrap her arm with the careful precision he always applied to his tasks. “Worry not, Lan’mèi. Zen entrusted it to me for safekeeping. As a disciple of Medicine, however, I must ask that you prioritize your rest—”
“I feelcompletelyrevitalized after your worm soup.”
Shàn’jun sighed. “Well, it seems the extraction has not cost you your wits,” he muttered, then reached into the folds of his sleeves and passed Lan the ocarina.
Her fingers wrapped around its smooth clay surface as though it were a lifeline. Miraculously, the instrument had survived the battle without sustaining any damage besides a light layer of mud. Lan polished it until the inlaid mother-of-pearl lotus shone like bone.
“The masters are all wondering what happened,” Shàn’junsaid quietly, his eyes fixed on the instrument. “When you and Zen were found to be missing, they all thought…” He lowered his eyes. “They thought he had done something to you.”
Lan’s head snapped up.Zen.He’d been with her in this chamber right before her extraction began.
“Where is he?” she asked, and when Shàn’jun was silent, she asked again, louder: “Where is Zen?”
“With Master Ulara,” came a voice, and Tai stepped into the Chamber of a Hundred Healings, ducking slightly to fit beneath the doorframe. His gold-rimmed eyes glinted as he turned to them, his gaze pinned on the ocarina in her hands. “I heard it. I heard the souls in that thing.”
“What do you mean, ‘with Master Ulara’?” Lan demanded.
“Lan’mèi, please,” Shàn’jun said, reaching for her uninjured hand. “You must not upset your qì—”
“He is being interrogated,” Tai said steadily, “in the Chamber of Clarity. Perhaps with the ferule.”
“The ferule,” she repeated numbly. Zen had mentioned the ferule, and she had no idea what it meant—yet she did know that if Ulara was involved, it did not bode well. Lan remembered the way the Master of Swords had looked at Zen with murder in her eyes. “Why is he being interrogated?”
“Lan’mèi, do you have any idea what happened?” Shàn’jun asked quietly.
“Unless your worm soup has the effect of memory loss, I’m perfectly clear—”
“Then you would know that Zen broke the single condition of his discipleship at the School of the White Pines.” Shàn’jun’s face was shadowed with sadness. “He used his demon’s power, which he swore never to do. The two of you were steeped in demonic qì upon your return.”
“He had no choice! We were captured by soldiers—we saw the Elantian Central Outpost—” Words tumbled from her lips,scattered and fragmented even as she pulled her thoughts together. Lan looked between Shàn’jun and Tai, both of whose expressions were grim. “Where is the grandmaster? I’ll tell him exactly what happened.”
“It is not up to the grandmaster,” Shàn’jun said. “The formal process of an inquiry has been enacted. This means that after Zen has taken the ferule for breaching the Code of Conduct, it will be up to the jury of masters to vote on whether he may remain in the School of the White Pines…and whether he is to receive harsher punishment.”
“Harsherpunishment? He saved ourlives!”
“It is forbidden,” Tai said. “Demonic practitioning. The consequence by imperial law was death.”
“And there isreason,”Shàn’jun added, catching her expression. “Demonic practitioners were prone to losing control and allowing a demon to control their bodies. Oftentimes, the consequences were far worse than the benefits. Remember the Nightslayer…”
This had all gone horribly wrong. Zen had gone withherbecause she’d needed to go to Guarded Mountain—and nowhewas the one being punished. Worse, though, was that they had found the ocarina her mother had left her and unlocked the star maps inside it…star maps that led to the Four Demon Gods…star maps that the Winter Magician had seen and stolen.
And now Erascius planned to find the Demon Gods and invade the Central Plains. Whatever rules Zen had broken were nothing compared with what would happen if they didn’t stop Erascius.
