Chen period, third mark of the Hour of the Dragon. Nightcrow Division.
Helian Xiang sat in the pivot chamber, calling up the first batch of waveforms for the day. The ice mirror lit up, faint blue light patterns flowing across his face. His eyes were stung by the mirror's reflection---he squinted instinctively, then continued looking at the lines.
Northern Camp: 0.33.
City West: 0.21.
Others: 0.18, 0.12, 0.09.
All below the baseline of 0.34.
All normal.
He began classifying. [Standard Ritual]. [Gray Zone]. [Observation]. His finger slid across the classification column, one file after another. Files stacked neatly on the right. Page corners aligned. Same as yesterday.
In the corner, one waveform still hung there. 0.12. Not archived. No label. It had been hanging there since the Hour of the Monkey the day before yesterday.
He did not look at it.
Wind outside the window. The window paper rustled softly.
Afternoon. Adjudication Institute.
The light at the witness stand was dimmer than previous days. The clouds outside the window had thickened; sunlight couldn't penetrate, so lamps were lit indoors. The sound of the wick burning was very light. Pop. Pop.
Sun Jiu stood there.
A civil official flipped through the dossier, not looking up, his voice like reciting a pre-written script: "Sun Jiu, regarding the breathing offset issue, has there been improvement today?"
Sun Jiu did not speak.
His left knee ached dully. He stood, weight on his right foot, left foot lightly touching the ground. That 0.1-breath depression, from yesterday to today, had never been compensated. Inhale---shallower by one degree. Exhale---shorter by one degree. Again, again, and again.
The official waited three breaths.
In those three breaths, no one spoke. The wick popped again. Helian Xiang's brush hovered above the paper, ink about to drip but not yet falling.
Then the official made a mark on the dossier and said:
"No answer, listed for pending discussion."
Turned to the next page.
"Next. Chen Si."
Chen Si stepped forward. His initial waveform was smooth. Questioning continued. Sun Jiu still stood nearby, but the questioning had moved on.
Helian Xiang looked at Sun Jiu's waveform. That 0.1-breath depression was still on the ice mirror, quietly, again and again. Compensation had not appeared.
He waited for compensation to appear.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three breaths.
Nothing.
A thought surfaced in his mind: if it's still there tomorrow, and the day after, is it still an "offset"?
When this thought appeared, the tip of his brush paused on the paper for 0.1 seconds. A tiny ink dot remained on the page.
He didn't wipe it away.
Shen period. Nightcrow Division. Pivot chamber.
Helian Xiang called up Sun Jiu's complete breathing record for the day.
On the ice mirror, the waveform flowed. Inhale---0.1 depression---exhale. Inhale---0.1 depression---exhale. Regular as a new rhythm, no longer an occasional deviation, but a stable form.
He called up the record from seven days ago. Back then, the waveform was smooth. Depressions appeared occasionally, but always compensated within two or three cycles, returning to that smooth baseline.
He overlaid the two waveforms.
His finger traced across the ice mirror, leaving an extremely brief heat mark that faded instantly.
In the overlay layer, the new line covered the old. The old line was completely hidden.
He looked at that image.
From far outside the pivot chamber came the sound of a drum marking the time---the third mark of the Hour of the Monkey. The sound was muffled, as if through very thick walls. He didn't look toward the window.
There were only two options for reporting: [Temporary Offset] or [Physiological Anomaly].
His finger stopped mid-air.
[Temporary Offset]---but it had already been four days.
[Physiological Anomaly]---but Sun Jiu stood, breathed, lived.
His finger moved from [Temporary Offset] to [Physiological Anomaly], then back. Hovering.
While hovering, his own breath paused for 0.1 seconds.
That 0.1-second pause was the same length as the depression of the waveform in the corner.
Then---he didn't select either. He skipped the classification column entirely, the cursor landing in the remarks column.
The ice mirror didn't report an error. The system gave no prompt. Because the cursor just stopped there, doing nothing.
He began to write: "Appearing continuously for four days, compensation not activated. Form stable, coexisting with physiological pain. Cannot be classified as temporary offset, nor does it meet anomaly definition."
After writing, he paused.
Then he wrote again: "Recommendation: ---"
The brush tip stopped.
He didn't know what to recommend. Continued observation? It was already being observed. Initiate investigation? Investigate what? That a person breathes slower because his knee hurts?
He crossed out that line: "Recommendation: ---"
Only a description remained in the report. No classification. No recommendation. Only: "This is how it is."
He placed that report in the "Outgoing" basket. It would lie quietly in some corner, waiting to be seen by someone---or never.
Set down the brush. The brush handle touched the inkstone with an extremely light sound.
Wind outside the window. The window paper rustled again.
Hour of the Rooster. The inn.
Sunset seeped through the window paper, cutting slanted light and shadow on the floor. Seven people together. No one spoke.
Sun Jiu sat on the bed's edge, hand pressing his left knee. His breath was 0.1 breaths slower than the others. Inhale---shallower by one degree. Exhale---shorter by one degree.
Chen Si sat across from him. He glanced at Sun Jiu, then looked away. He Sanshi also glanced. No one spoke.
Sun Jiu exhaled.
One breath later, Lu Wanning finally closed her medicine pouch. Her hand paused for that moment, 0.1 seconds, then continued organizing. The styptic powder in the pouch was in the same position as this morning.
Another breath later, Chen Si turned his gaze toward the window.
Shen Yuzhu pressed his left arm. The Mirror-Sigil wasn't warm. But that brass key in his robe seemed slightly heavier than just now. Or maybe not. He couldn't tell.
Chu Hongying leaned against the window, not turning back.
Sunlight streamed in from beside her, casting a shadow on the ground. Her shadow overlapped with the shadow of a nearby pillar, impossible to tell which was hers.
Her voice was very soft, as if speaking to the light outside the window:
"Pain means breathe the pain."
Sun Jiu did not respond.
Not returning to "normal." That 0.1-breath depression was still there. Only he no longer waited for it to be compensated.
His left foot---the one that had been lightly touching the ground, bearing less weight, since just now---after that breath, pressed down a fraction more firmly.
Chu Hongying did not turn back.
But her breath, after that breath, slowed by 0.05 breaths. Extremely brief, extremely light, so brief she herself might not notice.
The sun continued to set. Seven breaths, in seven different depths, continued to exist in the same room.
Midnight. The North. East Three Sentry.
Moonlight. Snow. That wooden stump.
Bo Zhong sat on the wooden stump, right hand pressing against the dark boundary. His palm pressed against that invisible line. From the night they left camp until now, he hadn't moved that hand. He ate with his left, leaned against the stump to rest when tired, and when he woke, his right hand was still there.
The pulse beneath his palm was steady. Inhale---empty space---exhale. Inhale---empty space---exhale.
The ice crystal flower in the moonlight.
Six petals fully formed, facets sharp, refracting the moonlight---red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo. The reverse grain on the seventh petal had gained another segment of symmetry compared to yesterday. That arc was slowly closing, following some distant rhythm.
Among the pulses beneath his palm, the breaths of those seven people grew clearer. One of them carried a 0.1-breath offset. Same as three days ago. Same as yesterday. Same as this morning.
Deep within the ice, no sound.
Only growth.
He didn't look down. Just kept pressing.
Midnight. Nightcrow Division. Pivot chamber.
Helian Xiang completed the last task of the day. That unclassified report had already been sent. At this moment, it lay quietly in some "Pending Discussion" dossier, together with countless other files waiting to be seen.
He didn't look at it again.
He called up the waveform in the corner---his own.
Depression: 0.12. Still there.
From the Hour of the Monkey the day before yesterday until now, it had been hanging there. Not archived. Not deleted. No remarks. Label column blank.
He looked at it.
In the corner of the ice mirror, that line lay quietly. Between it and him, less than a foot of air.
His right hand pressed against his robe. Inside was a private journal, against his heart. The paper under the fabric carried a trace of body heat.
He felt his own heartbeat.
Thump---empty---thump. Thump---empty---thump.
Between heartbeats, an empty space was becoming habitual. 0.1 breaths.
The same length as that waveform.
Wind rose outside the window. Very light. The window paper rustled softly for a while, then stopped.
Thump---empty---thump.
Thump---empty---thump.
In the corner of the ice mirror, the label column was blank. The system didn't report an error, because nothing had been submitted.
Outside the window, no moon.
He just sat there.
End of midnight.
[CHAPTER 164 END]