Shu Luan looks down at his black hands and then up again at Cang Chuxi's face blankly. He doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong with him.
"It's best if the three of you come with me," Cang Chuxi says, still looking apprehensively at Shu Luan.
He leads them into a secluded pavilion in the middle of a lake. They reach it through an arched bridge with a few viewing benches along the sides. Fragrant lotus flowers dot the lake's surface, but the charming atmosphere doesn't match Cang Chuxi's hurried pace and anxious expression.
They walk into the pavilion where a few low cots are organized in rows. Cang Chuxi goes into a large counter and brings out a cumbersome wooden box he sets down at the foot of one of the cots.
"Strip down to your waist," Cang Chuxi tells Shu Luan, while opening the box and taking out a series of silver instruments.
Shu Luan takes off his robes from the shoulder, and lets them pool around his waist.
