"What do you mean, breaking down?"
Su Xiaobai's voice came tight, strangled, like he'd swallowed a fistful of sand.
Zhu Qing pushed off the rail, her steps slow and deliberate, a cat stalking a crippled mouse. "Exactly what it sounds like. Your precious body? Crumbling. Slowly. Like an old whorehouse held together with hope and prayers."
"…Why?"
"Because you're an idiot," she said, the words sharp and blunt all at once. "You've been using spiritual Qi raw, haven't you? Ever since you formed your core."
"Of course," Su Xiaobai snapped, rolling his eyes. "That's the point of forming a core!" He glared at her. "What else am I supposed to do? Crochet a sweater with it?"
Her smile widened, "—And it's killing you."
"Explain."
