The bands held Yan’s wrists and knees against the stone. Zhao’s formation continued to drive unfamiliar qi through his channels. Gu stood beyond the marked floor, close enough for Yan to hear him over the low hum.
“Do not follow the current,” Gu said. “Keep your own circulation separate.”
Yan focused on the point beneath his ribs. The forced flow scraped along his meridians, and his breath wanted to match its rhythm. He resisted that pull one breath at a time.
“What is the art?” he asked.
“It resembles a self-burning method. The public manual is incomplete. I know the first breaths, not the final turn.”
Zhao looked at the attendant beside the seal. “Increase the bands.”
The man tightened the restraint across Yan’s wrist. The pressure pinched the skin and made his fingers tingle. Yan tried not to pull against it.
Gu raised his voice. “The first breath takes qi inward. The second holds it along the lower channel. Do not give the forced loop your dantian.”
