It was rare for her not to talk back. Under Pei Ye's gaze, Nandu picked up Lu Shi's head and then set it back on his neck, fitting it into place.
She cut a line across her own wrist with her Sword Using, then held it above the seam; blood seeped out and pattered down onto it in a fine drizzle.
This time Pei Ye saw with his own eyes what had happened that night in the valley.
That blood was like the sweet dew in a Guanshiyin Bottle—wherever a drop fell, Life sprang up and flourished. Only the seed it nourished was not flower or tree, but a corpse.
Like ink spreading on white paper, wherever the blood fell, mutation began. The warm, soft flesh grew into cold, hard scales, outward the muscles swelled, sharp bone spurs thrust out, the body lengthened; inward, the texture and structure of the bones changed, joints and cartilage becoming impervious to blade and sword.
That face too turned ferocious and horrific, slowly opening a pair of pale-golden vertical pupils.
