Late in the evening, the Chen manor had begun to settle. Lanterns were being lit along the corridors, their glow softening the stone beneath them.
Chen Ming was carried through the inner gate, his legs kicking lightly as he twisted in the guard's arms.
"Put me down," he said. "I can walk."
The guard adjusted his grip and shook his head. "Young Master, if I put you down, you'll run off again."
"I won't," Chen Ming said, puffing out his cheeks.
The guard let out a breath. "You say that every time. If something happens to you, I'll lose my head. Please understand."
Chen Ming frowned, then looked ahead. The familiar roofs and courtyards of the manor stretched before them. His shoulders relaxed slightly.
"We're already home," he said. "Put me down. I want to see Mother."
The guard hesitated, then lowered him carefully to the ground.
Chen Ming landed lightly and straightened his robe. As he did, a small booklet slipped into view, tucked close against his chest. He pressed it back instinctively.
The guard noticed. "What's that you're holding so tightly, Young Master?"
Chen Ming turned away at once, clutching the booklet closer as if it might be snatched from him. "Nothing."
Before the guard could say more, Chen Ming darted off down the corridor.
"Slow down," the guard called after him, already knowing it was pointless.
Chen Ming did not look back.
He crossed the courtyard at a run and pushed open the door to his mother's quarters. Inside, the room was warm with lamplight. Lin Shu sat by a low table, a length of cloth spread across her lap as her needle moved in steady rhythm.
Chen Ming slowed and stepped inside quietly. He climbed onto the cushion beside her and leaned close, peering at her hands.
"What are you doing, Mother?" he asked.
Lin Shu glanced down and smiled. She lifted one hand and brushed his hair back gently. "Winter will be here soon," she said. "I'm making you a new robe, so you won't feel the cold."
Chen Ming's eyes followed the needle as it passed through the cloth. He reached out and touched the edge of the fabric with one finger, then pulled his hand back.
He sat still for a moment, lips pressed together in thought.
Hmm, mother seems to be busy, I should go meet father, I will show him the manual and ask him to teach it to me.
Lin Shu noticed the look and smiled. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Chen Ming said. He nodded once, as if satisfied, then slid off the cushion and stood. "I'll go see Father."
Lin Shu opened her mouth to stop him, then closed it again. "Don't run," she said.
"I won't," Chen Ming replied, already moving.
"Ming'er," she called after him.
He was gone before she finished the word.
Lin Shu shook her head lightly and laughed under her breath as she returned to her sewing.
Chen Ming ran through the corridors, slowing only as he reached the discussion hall. He stopped just outside the doorway.
Voices carried from within, raised and sharp enough to cut through the quiet of the manor.
Chen Ming stood just outside the discussion hall, one hand resting against the doorframe. Voices came through the closed door, uneven and raised.
"What do you mean they're closing the shops?" his father's voice said. "The pill business is one of the most important trades the Chen family has. Not only in Qingshi, but across the surrounding towns. We supply twelve towns."
Another voice cut in, sharper. "If this continues, the losses will spread."
Chen Yuan's voice rose. "What happens to our reputation then? Years of trust, all of it undone. And now, when we have more uses for coins than ever. A spirit stone mine doesn't run itself."
Someone spoke again, lower but insistent. "Everyone knows who is responsible for this."
"You are the patriarch," another added. "You cannot let it continue."
Chen Ming stood very still.
He did not reach for the door. His hand slipped back to his side. His shoulders lowered, and he took a step away from the hall. The voices continued behind the door, but he did not listen further.
He looked down at what he was holding.
The thin booklet was still clutched against his chest. His fingers tightened around it, the string biting faintly into his skin.
Chen Ming turned and ran.
He did not head back toward the courtyards or the lantern-lit halls. He cut down a side passage, past a small garden where the stones were already cool, and stopped in a quiet corner of the manor where the walls rose higher and the noise did not reach.
He leaned back against the stone and slid down until he was sitting.
Carefully, he untied the string and opened the booklet.
His eyes moved across the page. The words meant little to him, lines of characters arranged neatly, too dense to hold his attention for long. He turned the page.
This one was different.
Simple drawings filled the paper. Figures stood in clear poses, feet placed carefully, arms angled in deliberate ways. Lines marked the flow of breath. Arrows showed where to move, where to stop.
Chen Ming leaned closer.
He turned another page, then another. His brows lifted. A slow smile spread across his face, small at first, then wider.
Chen Ming shifted the booklet onto his knees and traced the lines with one finger, moving slowly from top to bottom as he sounded the words out under his breath.
He frowned.
He tried again, this time reading more carefully.
"Root the body… calm the breath… gather strength before force."
He stopped and looked at the line as if it might change if he stared long enough.
"That's not right," he muttered.
He turned the page back, then forward again, comparing the words to the drawings. The figures were simple, almost crude. A person standing still. Another bending slightly at the knees. Arrows pointed downward along the legs, then up the spine.
Chen Ming read again, stumbling over the characters.
"Stand like earth," he said slowly, then shook his head. "No… stand as earth."
He tried once more. "Stand as earth. Breath like water. Strength follows bone."
He blinked, uncertain, then nodded to himself as if the matter were settled.
He rose to his feet and placed the booklet open on the ground beside him. He looked at the drawing, then at his own legs, and spread his feet apart to match the picture.
He bent his knees.
Too far.
He wobbled, arms flailing briefly before he caught himself against the wall. He straightened, cheeks warm, then tried again with less force.
This time he held the position longer. His legs trembled almost immediately.
"Like this," he whispered, glancing down at the page.
He raised his arms as shown, elbows bent, hands held loosely before his chest. He inhaled, chest lifting too quickly, then let the breath rush out in a soft huff.
"No," he said, remembering the arrows. He inhaled again, slower this time, trying to push the air downward the way the lines suggested.
His shoulders crept up anyway.
He frowned and adjusted, lowering them deliberately. His breath steadied a little. His legs began to ache.
After a few moments, his balance gave out and he dropped onto the stone with a small grunt. He sat there, breathing hard, then laughed quietly at himself.
He turned the page.
The next drawing showed a different stance, one foot forward, the other back, arms extended as if holding something invisible. Chen Ming stood again and copied it, stepping too far forward this time and nearly pitching over.
He corrected himself, shuffled his feet closer, and tried again.
This time he held it for three breaths.
On the fourth, he lost focus and stumbled, catching himself with his hands against the wall.
He did not stop.
He glanced at the booklet, then back at his feet, and adjusted them again. His movements were clumsy, uneven, but careful. Each time he failed, he paused only long enough to look at the drawing once more before trying again.
The sky above the manor darkened gradually as lantern light crept into the corners of the courtyard.
Chen Ming did not notice.
He followed the pictures as best he could, breathing when the arrows told him to breathe, standing when the figures stood, falling and rising again until his legs burned and his breaths came short and uneven.
He wiped his face with his sleeve and looked down at the open page, eyes bright despite the sweat clinging to his brow.
"Stand as earth," he said again, more quietly this time, and bent his knees once more.
"Ming'er. Ming'er—where are you?"
Chen Ming froze.
The voice carried gently through the courtyard, edged with concern. Chen Ming glanced toward the passage, then down at the booklet lying open near his feet. He bent quickly, scooped it up, and pushed it into his robe, hands a little clumsy with the motion.
"I'm here," he said.
Footsteps approached. Lin Shu came into view, her steps slowing when she spotted him. The worry in her expression eased only slightly as she crossed the remaining distance.
"Where were you, Ming'er?" she asked. "Mother was looking for you everywhere."
Chen Ming shifted where he sat. He kept his hands close to his chest, eyes turning away as if something nearby had caught his attention.
Lin Shu knelt in front of him. She noticed the flush on his face and the dampness clinging to his hair. Without comment, she lifted her sleeve and wiped the sweat from his forehead and temples.
"What were you doing?" she asked.
Chen Ming shook his head lightly. His gaze slid to the side, lips pressed together.
Lin Shu studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "I was calling you for dinner," she said. "But it looks like you should bathe first."
She stood and reached for his hand.
Chen Ming took it without resistance. As they walked back toward the inner quarters together, his steps were light despite the ache in his legs, the hidden booklet resting warm against his chest.
***
[Black Furnace Sect]
Midnight settled over the Black Furnace Sect. The inner hall lay deep within the compound, sealed from the outer courtyards by thick stone walls and heavy doors.
Hei Yan sat on a raised throne at the far end of the chamber. His body was bare, his posture relaxed, one arm resting against the side of the seat. At the base of the platform, several naked women lay sprawled across the cold stone floor. Their limbs were slack, skin drawn tight, chests barely rising, as if whatever strength they once had had been drained away.
An attendant entered and knelt immediately. "Master," he said, head lowered, "Lu Wen has returned."
Hei Yan's eyes lifted. A smile spread slowly across his face. "Bring him in."
Lu Wen entered moments later. He held a conscious woman by the arm, her feet dragging as he crossed the hall. His steps were light, his expression openly pleased.
He released her roughly and bowed. "Master."
Hei Yan's gaze moved from Lu Wen to the woman at his feet. Lu Wen noticed at once.
"It's only a small souvenir," he said, nudging her forward with his foot. "Something I picked up in a shop along the way."
Hei Yan flicked his fingers once, dismissively. "What did you find?"
Lu Wen straightened. The grin he had been holding back broke fully across his face. "It's true, Master. There is a spirit stone mine in Qingshi. I saw it myself."
Hei Yan leaned forward slightly.
"The Chen family has already started bringing people in," Lu Wen said. "They're keeping it quiet, but once miners gather, secrets don't stay buried. It won't be long before others hear."
Hei Yan's mouth curved slightly. "Then we won't give them that long."
His gaze dropped again to the woman on the floor. "You may keep her," he said. "Consider it your reward."
Lu Wen's eyes widened. He bowed deeply. "Thank you, Master."
He reached down and pulled the woman back toward him, licking his lips as he turned away.
The hall remained silent as the doors closed behind him.