Jasmine thrashed, managing to get one of her arms free. She swung her fist, punching at Ogwen’s groin. He caught her wrist, then twisted.

Jasmine took a sharp breath, wincing in pain.

“Ah, ah, ah.” He waved a finger, as if disciplining a toddler. Then he jabbed his fingers into her gut, just beneath her sternum. Her hazy meridians flared with what felt like boiling liquid. A raw bellow ripped through her throat, scraping it raw.

She clenched her jaw, twitching as fire spread throughout her soul. As she anticipated another blow—wishing she could tear Ogwen’s head off, and crush it to powder—she took a deep breath, focusing on cycling the foreign maqi from her weak meridians.

But it was pointless.

She couldn’t purge it out in time!

Just one more blow, and she was done for.

This is why she needed to learn how to fix her broken spirit and cultivate her way to Gold. As a pathless lesser soul, she was nothing but a powerless sack of meat!

“. . . What is he doing?” Ogwen whispered, sounding annoyed.

Jasmine looked up at Ogwen’s face, blinking tears. He was staring at something off to her left. She followed his gaze.

The boy with the rings around his eyes had Pui by the arm. He was dragging her over, a wicked smile on his face. “Look what I found!” He shook her arm. “Caught the nasty little flea spyin’ over by a couple of turtles!”

Jasmine’s heart was slamming against her chest. No!

Ogwen groaned. “Denwen, leave her.”

“Leave her?” He pushed her to the ground next to Jasmine. “We can use her to get this one,” he jabbed Jasmine’s shoulder, “to cooperate.”

“Oh?” the girl with long brown hair said. “And you think torturing an innocent little girl will go unnoticed?”

“The Monastery won’t care if hurt another one of their . . .” As Denwen talked, a shadowy ball floated over. It blinked, revealing a reptilian eye with a red-hot pupil.

Youxia? Jasmine thought, feeling a strange mix of relief and apprehension.

The eye glanced up at the branches of a nearby tree. It bulged in surprise, then ducked behind a bush, and peeked around a white leaf, lids narrowing as it watched something.

Denwen was still arguing with the others. “. . . then shatter her meridians and be done with it!”

“We have to be careful not to kill her,” Ogwen said.

“She doesn’t even have a dantian. There’s nothing to be careful about!”

“Yes there is. We— Denwen!”

Denwen dug his knees into Jasmine’s gut. “Gah!” she gagged. He reared a glowing fist, aiming at Jasmine’s chest. So this is it, she thought, holding up her hands, shielding her eyes from the bright light This is how I die . . .

A metal ball slammed into Denwen’s chest, throwing him back. He hit the grass, hollering in pain as Ogwen and his sister cried out.

Jasmine gawked with a shocked expression.

The metal ball was spiked. A chain extended from the sphere up to the branches of a nearby tree.

A young man with messy, golden hair held the start of the chain. He was leaning his shoulder against the trunk, examining his fingernails. His white poncho was rimmed with royal blue stitching. There was an intricate design of a four-pointed shield beautifying the front of the garment. A mouth formed on the shield’s face, stretching into a fanged smile.

“Have you ever accidentally bit your lip while enjoying a good meal?” he asked, looking up. “Anyone?” He cocked a blonde brow, glossing over them with striking green eyes.

Jasmine’s breath caught. Green eyes? And that face!

Her chest clenched. He looked exactly like her father.

“There are few things in life that I hate more than ripping through my lip when biting into a slice of brambleberry pie . . .” His face darkened as he yanked on the chain. The spiky ball lurched toward him. He splayed a palm, and caught it. “And one of those things is watching a couple of spineless dogs pick on two innocent nuns.”

“Sh-she isn’t innocent!” Ogwen shouted, backing away from the tree.

“Oh?”

“She took from our father’s store!”

“And crippling her spirit is an adequate punishment, hm?”

Ogwen's jaw hung slack, his face pale. Then he glanced at his brother. Denwen was lying on the ground with a broken chest, whimpering like a baby. Ogwen set his jaw, then looked back at the stranger, glaring daggers with his shimmering eyes. He clenched his glowing hands into golden fists.

He punched at the stranger. A beam of light shot from his fist.

The stranger jumped, front flipping high over Ogwen’s head. As he landed, he spun, swinging his chain. Ogwen ducked while bursting with a blinding spray of golden light.

Jasmine cried out, slamming her eyes shut and turning away, pushing her face into the feathery grass. The smell of soil traveled up her nose as Ogwen thundered a battle cry. Clinking chains, a zithering whir, and chuckles followed by a shout attested to the start of a scuffle.

She blinked sunspots from her eyes and glanced back.

The gold-haired stranger was carrying Pui under one of his arms, ducking a lance of dense light. Ogwen pulled the lance back, holding it like a spear, then thrust it at the man’s midsection. The man sidestepped the weapon and spun while lifting his foot. He kicked Ogwen in the face.

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Jasmine’s attention turned to Pui. She looked both delighted and terrified. As honest as Goldie seemed, she didn’t trust him one bit. Not with her father’s face plastered onto him!

She had to save Pui!

She had to . . .

She . . .

Jasmine looked from Pui, to the library. A light went off in her head. Her enemies were distracted. No one was watching her. Now was her chance to escape! And sneak into the library. But what about Pui?

She searched for Youxia’s eye, and found it floating toward the battle. Jasmine’s heart leaped. If he was getting involved, then Pui was in safe hands.

Someone groaned.

Jasmine looked.

The girl with long brown hair was cradling Denwen in her arms, her eyes wet with tears. She glanced at the fight, then turned and darted for one of the streets, calling for help.

When the girl was out of sight, Jasmine rolled to her belly and started worming toward the library. Flashes of golden light lit up the grass as maniacal laughter echoed through the air.

Jasmine couldn’t help but look . . .

Ogwen’s eyes were glowing like two tiny stars, and his arms were covered in rippling light. The silver badge on his lapel glistened as he forged a long shaft of light, holding it like a spear.

If Goldie was anything less than a Silver, that shaft would tear through his chest like a hot knife through butter.

Which made her wonder.

What was his rank?

She looked, searching for a badge as he danced back, dodging Ogwen’s thrusts. His poncho swayed as he slid left, then puffed out as he ducked. The shield embroidered to the fabric clacked its sharp teeth. What weird clothing . . . And that hair! It shimmered in the sunlight, swaying as he dodged another thrust from Ogwen’s spear. She knew of no one with locks like those. Tianhai’s residence didn’t breed blondies.

Only Father did.

Youxia’s ghostly eye was fixed on the fight, moving to float behind the stranger. It dropped to the grass, melting into a black puddle. A pitch-black head rose from the splat, followed by shoulders, then a robed body, and bare feet. The shade blinked its one reptilian eye.

It lunged for the stranger, who—without glancing back—sprang into the air. The shade collided with Ogwen, shoving him aside before turning to face the stranger.

“Drop the girl,” it said in a harsh whisper.

“I’m afraid that if I do,” the stranger said, alighting on the grass, “you’ll have her for lunch.”

“She is a member of the Kaithist Monastery.” The shade jabbed its chest. “My responsibility.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

The shade clenched its fists. Before it could speak, Ogwen jabbed his spear of light at its back. The shade spun and kicked it. It exploded with light as the shade’s foot blew apart. It stumbled to the grass, hissing. When its foot reformed, the shadows deepened around it. It jumped to its feet, reaching for Ogwen. Then it stopped, and spun around.

Goldie was running away, heading for a street that led toward the towering rock formation at the center of the sect. The shade darted after him, followed by Ogwen.

By now, Jasmine had reached the library.

She crawled past bell bushes, and toward a tall window, wincing at the pain in her spirit. The meridians were still burning in her chest. She wasn’t sure what Ogwen had done, but it felt as if he’d pushed boiling water into her spiritual veins.

Her gut cramped when she moved to kneel. She took a sharp breath, grabbing her belly. The meridians in her torso wriggled like a tank of tortured worms. She clutched the fabric of her green robe, clenching her teeth.

She took a deep breath, focusing on the foreign maqi boiling in her veins. She wanted to cycle it out of her system, but that would take time. She needed someplace to hide. If Ogwen or Youxia came bumbling back over, they’d find her in seconds.

She looked up at a tall, narrow window. The glass was frosted, and it reflected the light of the sun, making it impossible to see inside. She gingerly rose to her feet, keeping her back hunched, not wanting to stretch her torso any more than she had to.

She pulled at one of the glass panes, and it opened. She placed her hands on the sill and, with an excruciating amount of effort, pulled herself up, and swung one leg through the opening. She lost her balance and toppled to a thin red carpet.

She lay there, staring up at a vaulted ceiling.

She strained her ears, listening for danger, but she heard nothing but the rustling of leaves and the distant chatter of a far-off crowd. Her heart was pounding, and it only quickened when something dawned on her.

What if someone else was in this room?

She turned to find that she wasn’t in a room at all. She was at the center of a long hall lined with pedestals carrying little marble statues of people’s faces. On the walls there were paintings of old men and women, each wearing caped cloaks, and hats that looked as if they’d lost their stuffing. There were several doors in between the paintings, made of dark brown wood.

She checked up and down the hall, making sure there were no other living things, then she rolled to her hands and feet and crawled to one of the doors.

When she reached it, she tried the handle, finding it unlocked. She pushed the door open just a crack, and peeked in. Her breath caught, and the scent of dusty parchment and old ink shot up her nose.

There were two long shelves loaded with leather-bound books. One was on her left, the other on her right. They formed a hall that led to a common room with tables and chairs. Tall windows lined the far wall, allowing sunlight to filter in.

Jasmine’s trance was cut short by the tightening of her hot meridians. Her muscles cramped and she had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming.

She needed to find a place to hide and heal.

Now!

She rose to her feet and limped forward, wrapping her arms around her stomach. When she reached the common room, she searched for a table that could hide her properly. Those at the center of the room were bare, like bald heads. Several long ones were lining the wall of windows; these had white tablecloths that skirted the tiles.

She hurried over and scuttled beneath one, placing her back against the wall. Yētch! Her soul was on fire! She hugged herself tightly, and bit down hard, nearly cracking her teeth . . .

Once, after eating some spoiled food, she suffered the grief of indigestion and the pain was gut-wrenching. That paled in comparison to bloating horror flaring up her insides! It felt like her intestines were inflating with acidic diarrhea.

Her breathing quickened, and she tried cycling the foreign maqi from her channels—but then she realized something. How in the name of the Gods do you cycle foreign maqi? The nuns didn’t know much about meridial flow, and the monks refused to teach her.

The maqi would naturally cycle out of her system—but Nether, how long would it take! Despite the hellish inferno welling up inside of her, she tried to get comfortable, resting the back of her head against the wall. As she sat there, she took a deep breath, reveling in the fact that she’d survived.

She was here, in the library, surrounded by the wisdom of the ancients. Somewhere in this vast archive was the solution to her problem, the light at the end of the tunnel, the key to her liberation.

Drinking an elixir was far easier than searching the words of a scroll, but if this is what it would take for her to form her dantian and advance to Tin, she had to do it.

But it’ll have to wait, she thought, her veins glowing dimly as the burning energy of light seared the meridians in her arms and legs. It was too painful to move. Besides, it would be better for her to search the library at night anyway. By then, it would be closed to the public, so she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone finding her here. Kaithist nuns weren’t allowed in this place, and neither were Tins, or Bronzes for that matter. If someone found her here, she was as good as dead.

She tucked her legs close to her body, and rested her forehead against her knees, shaking as the fire in her meridians burned through the veins branching through her hands. She bit down on the fabric of her robes to restrain a wail.

It would be hours before nightfall, and she couldn’t wait.

Until then, she would suffer in silence.