Xu Ling did not answer immediately.
This was not evasion. It was the specific quality she brought to questions whose answers carried weight, the ancient sword spirit's relationship with language precise enough that she did not speak until she was certain the words were accurate. He had learned this across their previous conversations and he waited without pressing.
The platform was quiet.
The mountain's interior sounds, the faint movement of air through stone passages, the deep structural resonance of the pulse that had been present since he crossed the deep zone boundary, were present here but quieter than they had been in the stairway, the open sky above the platform allowing whatever sound the mountain made to disperse upward rather than concentrate around the listener.
He looked at the Second Gate while he waited for her to speak.
