The last cart emptied after the yard bell, leaving Yan with a prickle of dust in his nose and a narrow slice of daylight in the west windows. He wiped the workbench and washed his hands before opening the tool chest. The warming pellet he had bought from Bai at the market still sat in its intact paper sleeve. Its guild receipt and batch number were folded beside it.
This was not the remainder of the quarter dose he had tested with Bai in the tool shed. That one was locked in the chest for return to inventory. This pellet came from a separate logged guild batch. Yan checked its label, ingredient list, warning, and directions. The instructions called for a small dose and a full breathing sequence. The listed benefit was a warming current through the channels; the warning named trembling hands.
He set out a cup of water and his reject map. The small practice alcove had a clean floor and one wooden stool. The path to the infirmary ran past the shed door. Yan left it clear. Bai sat on the outer step, finishing the note he had been writing to a courier clerk.
Before opening the sleeve, Yan checked his pulse against the slow drip from the roof eave and wrote the count beside the dose time. The reading was steady, a little slower than after the last shift. He added that the practice alcove was cool and his hands were clean. If the warning returned, he wanted to know whether it changed his pulse or only his grip.
“You’re testing it now?”
“At the end of shift. I can wait through the full interval before I go home.”
“You’re not tired?”
“I am. That’s why I’m not lifting anything.”
Bai glanced at the label. “You’ve read it twice.”
“Three times.”
“Then I won’t read it to you.”
Yan took a small portion of the pellet and swallowed it with water. The taste was warm and faintly sweet, with a bitter edge near the end. He put the remaining pellet back in its paper and folded the label outward so the batch number stayed visible.
The warmth gathered under his ribs. It rose in a flush through his chest and down his arms. His hands started to tremble. The first shaking was fine enough to make the ink line on the page look blurred. He set the cup down and kept his palms open on his knees.
Bai moved to the doorway. “Do you want me to fetch Wu?”
“Not yet. I’ll follow the printed sequence.”
“Tell me if you change your mind.”
Yan read the first line of the wrapper, then breathed in slowly through his nose. He followed the route from his lower abdomen to the center of his chest, held for the count on the label, and let his breath out while bringing the qi down both arms. He repeated each step in order, without forcing the warmth or trying to make it stronger.
The third breath came more easily than the first. The warmth remained, but the tremor softened. His fingers felt as if they had found a narrow, steady path through the heat. He completed the sequence once more. By the last exhale, his hands had stopped shaking.
A silent line appeared in his mind.
Cultivation benefit retained. Cultivation-linked trembling reversed into fine control.
Yan blinked. He read it again, then let it fade without changing his expression. His channels held the warming current. Nothing else had been taken from him. He did not feel weak or hollow. The warning’s effect had changed into something useful, and the dose had not asked him to strain.
“Finished?” Bai asked.
“The sequence is done.”
“Any dizziness?”
“No.” Yan stood and waited. His balance held. “I’m hungry.”
“That isn’t dizziness.”
“Good. I know what hunger feels like.”
The warming pulse was expected to last a short while. Yan did not extend the test to see if another sequence would make it stronger. He turned to the small tear along the blue coat’s cuff. The first repair had held, but the patching thread had puckered and one stitch had begun to pull loose. He took a needle and a finer thread from his sewing kit.
Bai sat across from him and held the sleeve flat. “You could let a tailor fix that.”
“I could pay a tailor.”
“Or you could buy a better coat.”
“I like this one.” Yan threaded the needle. “If I pay a tailor every time the cuff catches, I’ll have no coins left for food.”
He guided the needle through the cloth. The first stitch went through cleanly. He brought it back through the lining and kept the thread snug without pinching the seam. Each motion felt exact, almost effortless. Yan grinned at the small, satisfying proof.
Bai watched the needle. “The pill has made you a seamstress.”
“It has given me one more skill that keeps my clothes from being ruined by the yard.”
“Do cultivators list that in their training records?”
“Only the ones whose sleeves are torn.”
The seam came together straighter than his first attempt. Yan tied the thread with a small knot and turned the cuff over. The repair lay flat. He flexed his fingers to be sure the fine control remained, then set the needle aside.
He wrote the time, dose, batch, and expected interval into the reject map. Under the result he recorded that the warmth stayed, the trembling eased after the printed breathing sequence, and he had remained steady. Bai checked the batch number against the receipt and initialed the witness column.
When the label’s interval ended, Yan counted his pulse again. It had returned to nearly the same pace as before the dose. He tested the needle between finger and thumb, then laid it flat so he would not mistake the smooth seam for a strength gain. His grip was more controlled, but the pulse count showed no sharp change and the warmth had begun to fade. He marked both observations separately.
“Want to try a stronger one next time?” Bai asked.
“Yes, if we find a complete label and a reason to need it.”
“Curiosity isn’t a reason?”
“Not enough on its own.” Yan put the remaining pellet into its paper sleeve and wrote the tested amount on a small strip, which he tucked beside the batch label. “I don’t need another dose just to see if I can take one.”
The warming effect faded on its own after the interval. Yan did not feel weaker afterward. He washed his hands, ate a portion of the meal he had brought, and waited while Bai checked his face and balance again.
“Still hungry?” Bai asked.
“More than before.”
“Still steady?”
Yan picked up the meal bag and carried it without difficulty. “Yes.”
Bai walked with him as far as the yard gate. The evening air cooled the sweat at Yan’s hairline. The pleasant hunger remained, and the warmth in his arms thinned gradually. He carried the rest of the meal home for Ning.
She took the bowl from him and insisted he eat the larger piece of fish. Yan began to protest, then accepted it. He was hungry in the ordinary, pleasant way that followed a full day’s work, not the hollow ache that came from rationing food. He ate slowly, enjoying a benefit that had nothing to do with proving himself to anyone.