The next chamber had a low ceiling threaded with qi needles. A circulation diagram was painted across the floor, its lines converging at a bright emitter on the far wall.
Yan recognized the flow from the draught records. When he came close, pressure pushed qi toward a forced loop through his channels. It was the ruin imposing an attack, not a method he had chosen. The force did not turn pleasant or useful. His System did not make it a benefit.
The pressure came from the floor and wall together. It was not the warm strain of a technique he had chosen; it shoved qi through a route his body had not made. Yan’s breath shortened. The loop dragged at his channels like a rope pulled from the other end.
He tried to step back. His heel moved only a finger’s width before the diagram pressed harder. The Ashen Marrow Scripture held his stance firm, but it did not turn the pressure into strength. His jaw tightened. He set one foot against a stone rib and used it to keep from sliding toward the center.
“Don’t cross the paint!” he shouted to Wei.
Wei had already stopped at the edge. The second candidate was two steps behind him, caught in the same pull. Yan could see the bright emitter on the far wall and the small hinge beneath it. If he moved blindly, he could step onto the next line and tighten the loop.
