Chapter 4: The Discipline Hall

The side room of the Discipline Hall smelled of lamp oil and cold iron.

It had one table, two stools and a window too high to see out of.

The man in the black robe shut the door and sat down across from her.

"I'm Zhuo Ming," he said. "Sleeves."

Lian pushed them up to her elbows and laid her arms on the table, palms up.

The gray had sunk back to one faint thread at each wrist.

Under it, the ash lay hot and restless from the fight.

She held it still the way she'd held it on the steps that morning, and it burned in her mouth.

Zhuo Ming took her left wrist in both hands.

His hands were warm and careful.

He looked at the blisters first, then at the bruise the cane had left across her forearm.

Then his thumb moved an inch and stopped on the gray thread.

He didn't say anything for a long time.

He turned her right wrist over and found the same line there.

"How long have you had this?" he asked.

"It's a rash," Lian said. "From the bucket handles."

He let go of her.

"That's what she said," he said.

Before Lian could ask who, the door opened.

The Discipline Elder came in without knocking.

He was a tall old man of ninety-six with a square-cut white beard.

He was a Soul, the rank of an elder.

He was also Guan Shuo's master, and the most feared man on the mountain after the Sect Master.

"Well?" he said.

Zhuo Ming stood up.