The shadows of the bamboo forest were long, skeletal fingers that clawed at the silver-drenched earth. At midnight, the Spirit Cloud Sect was a world of ghosts, the grand pavilions on the higher peaks nothing more than glowing lanterns suspended in a void of ink. Down here, in the neglected groves behind the Outer Quarters, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the sharp, green tang of crushed leaves.
Li Chen sat cross-legged on a flat stone, his eyes closed. He wasn't breathing like a normal man. Each inhalation was a slow, deliberate draw that seemed to pull not just air, but the very silence of the night into his lungs.
Open the pores. Invite the cold. Do not resist the river; become the riverbed.
He could feel the Sun-Dew Breath working. It was a strange, counter-intuit
