Wu had the ingredients laid out before Yan arrived.
The testing room smelled of bitter root, wet stone, and the sharp mineral odor of black salt. A fresh cup sat on the tray. The first cup was gone. There was no grey flake at the bottom, only a faint ring where the mixture had dried.
Yan checked the batch card. “Same ingredients as yesterday?”
“Frostvine, river ginseng, and black salt,” Wu said. “Measured from a new batch.”
“Same amount?”
Wu showed him the weight. Zhao stood by the table with a pulse strip ready. “The dose matches yesterday’s. We are comparing the readings.”
Yan sat and held out his wrist. Wu counted his pulse. The new baseline was close to the old one, though the line moved more smoothly beneath his skin.
“Any pain since the first test?” Zhao asked.
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“No.”
“Dizziness?”
“No.”
Wu wrote the answers down. Yan watched the brush form each mark. The first dose had left no weakness or delayed damage, and the clean circulation had remained after the draught. The new cup would tell him whether that result held when the recipe was repeated.
Zhao set it in front of him. “Drink it at once. Then hold still while Wu measures.”
Yan lifted the cup. The liquid was slightly warmer than before. He breathed in once, tasted the copper and bitter root, and swallowed.
The qi gathered in his abdomen and rose through his chest. Warmth moved through his meridians toward the old tight place beneath his ribs, where the route had always caught.
The Bizarre System answered.
Qi accumulation retained. Meridian corrosion reversed into meridian refinement.
The warmth opened along his channels without scraping or cutting. It traveled through the old tight place beneath his ribs, and that route widened with a smooth, pleasant ease. The qi benefit remained in his dantian. Yan breathed through the circuit once, then again, enjoying the clean passage of warmth through his chest and arms.
The absence of grey sediment had made no difference.
Relief rose so quickly that Yan almost smiled into the cup. He set it down and turned the expression into a cough.
Wu caught it. “Are you laughing?”
“I’m trying not to choke.” Yan drank the water Wu offered. “It’s still bitter.”
Zhao took his wrist. “How strong was the pain?”
Yan kept his face tense. The warmth had not hurt; he gave Zhao the answer the elder expected. “About the same as yesterday.”
“And now?”
“Less.”
The pulse stone showed a smooth line. Zhao studied it, then checked the batch number against the card. “You have practiced a cleansing method?”
“No.”
“Some other circulation?”
“The beginner chart from the library. No forbidden method.”
Zhao asked Wu for the first strip. The two readings showed the same stable response after each dose. Wu placed them side by side, lining up the times. The first sample had come from the grey-flaked cup. The second had not.
“The result repeated,” Wu said.
He asked Yan to breathe through the beginner route once without gathering more qi. Yan followed the diagram’s first turn, then paused at the point that used to tighten beneath his ribs. Nothing caught. Wu watched the pulse stone while the qi moved down and returned to the dantian.
“Did you feel the same change as yesterday?” Wu asked.
“Yes.”
“Could you show me where it starts?”
Yan touched the place below his navel, then traced the path through his chest and arms. “The qi gathers here. The warmth moves along this route.”
“Not your back?”
“No.”
Wu marked the diagram beside the pulse strip. Zhao took the brush and circled the measurement, not the route. “The test measures circulation, not your sensation. Keep both records separate.”
Yan watched him do it. The pulse strip showed a number and a line. The diagram showed where the pressure had gone. Neither page said what changed it, but together they made the result harder to dismiss as one mistaken reading.
“It is still unusual.” Zhao looked at Yan. “Did you feel the qi rise?”
“Yes.”
“Did the pain move?”
The warmth had passed smoothly through his chest and arms. Yan kept the story he had given Zhao. “Through my chest and arms. It eased after the first surge.”
“You are sure there is no lasting damage?”
Yan moved his fingers one by one, then stood. “I feel steady.”
Zhao watched him take three steps. “You may return to light duty.”
Yan kept his shoulders slightly hunched. “Thank you.”
The elder did not seem satisfied. “I will keep both pulse strips. We may need another comparison.”
“Could I have a copy of today’s reading?”
Wu looked at Zhao. The elder thought for a moment, then said, “Give him the standard result.”
Wu wrote a small summary and handed it to Yan. It showed the dose, time, and pulse reading, but not the full notes. Yan folded it into his coat. The copy did not explain what the System had done, but it confirmed what the instruments could see.
“Do you want the ordinary ingredients written in full?” Wu asked.
“Yes.”
“They’re already on the batch card.”
“Put them on my copy too.”
Zhao looked impatient but did not object. Wu added the three ingredients and the dose. Yan checked that there was no grey sediment listed. The copy was small, but it carried the facts he wanted to remember: the same recipe, a clean second batch, the same claimed pain, and a pulse that settled smoothly.
Wu noted who had taken the reading and handed Yan the copy.
Outside the room, he took the long path back to the yard. Each breath moved through his chest without catching. He tried one turn of the beginner route behind a stack of empty baskets. The qi completed the circuit. He stopped after one turn, waited, then did another. It still felt clear.
Yan picked up one of the empty baskets and carried it to the shelf. The wicker handle pressed into his palm, but the motion felt easy. He set it down and flexed his fingers, checking for a tremor or a numb patch. There was none. His arms were not suddenly powerful enough to move a furnace, but the qi passed through them without the old resistance. He was glad the test room had not kept the only record of that change.
Nothing had been taken from him to pay for it. The first gain had stayed. The second dose made the same change again. Yan pressed his tongue against his teeth to hold back a grin.
At the market stall, he bought an extra bun with his remaining coin. The seller raised an eyebrow. “Someone got a bonus?”
“Someone got hungry.”
He ate as he walked, letting himself enjoy the warm bread and the steady movement of qi. Tomorrow would bring questions and another shift. But for this moment, the path inside him had opened again, and he had a hot bun in his hand.