"To put the matter bluntly, that girl is rotting with bloodscars. While you can live with the knowledge that you'll die one day, Chang Chang is dying."
"What?"
"About you or her?"
"Well, her."
"Heavens tears, haven't you touched her yourself?" Saragui took in his expression. "If you did, you'd doubtless find her frigid."
Ju Feng lowered himself into a chair, in the way a cat sinks into a wary crouch. "Why is she dying? Explain."
"I am only speculating, of course, but I believe that whatever ability Chang Chang gained as a result of her brush with the bloodplague is interfering with her essence. Her arts go wild more often than they succeed. Am I correct?"
"You are," Ju Feng said.
"Then, in effect, every time she casts a mystical spell, her body wages war on itself—the bloodscar fighting the ordered forces of magic. Her scar must be a powerful talent, to cause such a chaotic reaction. What is it, exactly, that Chang Chang can do?"
