Three heavy iron deadbolts sealed the thick oak door of the third sub cellar beneath the Jade Pavilion, shutting out the mountain draft and burying the silence sixty feet under the bedrock.
A single brass oil lamp rested on a wooden stool, its wick trimmed low so that the flame cast flickering, emerald shadows across the damp stone walls.
Su Rou sat cross legged upon a raised granite slab in the center of the cold room, the hem of her lavender silk gown pooling around her knees like spilled wine.
Resting across her lap was the square volume bound in cured human skin, its pale leather cover cool and supple against her manicured fingers.
She traced the raised crimson glyphs carved into the binding, feeling the faint, unnatural warmth vibrating through the dried flesh.
For three years, t
