Chapter 4: The Cup Rite

The brothers held the Cup Rite in their long dining hall, with forty men on benches and a low table in the middle.

On the table stood three cups, and every new Medicine Brother had to drink all three.

"Three poisons from the Hall's own store," the Elder said from his chair. "The new brother drinks, names the poison, and names its cure."

"He does it without being sick. A brother who retches in front of the Hall has not yet earned the sash."

Cen Yu stood in front of the table in a clean white-grey robe, still creased from the chest it had been folded in.

He had lost his sense of smell two years ago to the Silver Moth, and his sense of taste ten days ago to the Black Ancestor.

He could not smell a thing in this room, and he could not taste a drop of what he was about to drink.

It was the first time in his life he had been glad of it.

The sash lay folded on a tray by the Elder's elbow.

It meant a cell with a door, a seat at this table, a candle at night, and the right to read the Hall's books.

It meant his mother's pill, doubled, for as long as he lived.

Shen Ao came forward with a ladle.

Pouring the cups was the clerk's duty, and Shen Ao poured them with his eyes on the table.

His hands were steady for the first two.

On the third, a few drops spilled over the rim of the ladle and ran down his wrist.

Cen Yu watched them run.

On the far side of the hall, by the wall, stood Pei Ruo with her ledger under her arm.

The Insect House supplied the gu behind every poison on the table, so she weighed each cup.

Her eyes were on the third one.

She raised one scarred hand to her chest, palm out, and lowered it an inch, as if pressing something down.

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