The Ten Thousand Arts Furnace

Cheng Zhao sold his last brass uniform button to learn an ancient technique. He had damaged his foundation while testing a technique in the army. After traveling through six cities, he finally found a path that seemed to let him continue cultivating. Then a girl injured herself while practicing. The injury was on her wrist, and it was shallow. Another apprentice had a mark on his wrist too, identical down to the fine branch bending downward at its tip. The instructor said he had practiced for twenty-one years and had never seen anything like it. Cheng Zhao decided to lend a wisp of his power to the girl's body and take a look for himself. In doing so, he first lost the strength to protect himself. The next clue, however, lay in a half-collapsed ancient hall outside the city. Were the people in the old mural passing on a technique, or fighting for their lives? Why did the mountain bell ring before the valley wind? And why had a once-accurate map begun leading travelers into danger? Cheng Zhao could only ever see a short stretch ahead. To find out if it was right, he had to walk it. To change it, he had to pay a price. But he hadn't come this far just to point out where the road was blocked for others. He would master that palm strike of his own and travel farther still.