Gu brought Yan a corrected copy of the breath pattern the next afternoon. He had assembled it from the Ashen Marrow Scripture, the older catalog reference, and his own notes. The script was cleaner than the marks on the brittle page, but he had written the warnings in red along the side.
“Before you copy anything, tell me the sequence aloud,” Gu said.
Yan set his shift bag down. “From the opening breath?”
“From the opening breath. If you can’t say where the force turns, you can’t copy it.”
Yan recited the first steps: settle the stance, gather a small charge below the navel, draw the breath across the chest, and guide the force toward the shoulder. He stopped at the mark Gu had reconstructed.
“Here the force turns away from the spine,” he said. “It must release before the second measured breath. Otherwise it keeps pressing into the marrow.”
Gu nodded. “Continue.”
Yan named the final direction and the point where the breath should leave the body. He made no hand motion and gathered no qi. The two of them were still in the library, at a table that held tea, catalog cards, and the locked scripture.
“Start again,” Gu said. “No looking at the page.”
Yan closed his eyes and repeated the sequence. He named the gathering point, the route to the shoulder, the missing turn, and the release. Gu listened without interrupting. When Yan finished, he tapped the table once.
“You have the turn. Now tell me which version of the count you will use.”
“The measured breaths. The corrected copy shows three breaths, not three full circuits.”
“Why?”
“The older reference has a lighter correction over the original mark. The force releases after the third measured breath. If I read it as three full turns, the warning makes sense as damage, but the release comes too late.”
Gu leaned back. “That is the reading I prefer. It is not proof.”
“I understand.”
“You have to understand more than the words.” Gu rose and walked slowly toward the practice alcove. “Come. We can check the diagram against a body without using qi.”
The training dummy stood against the far wall. Its arms were made of thick wood, and the chest had been marked with faded lines to show where force should travel. Gu took a piece of chalk and marked the shoulder, the spine, and the point of release.
Yan followed the route with the edge of his palm, tracing where a strike should begin and where it should end. His hand moved from the lower center of the body, across the ribs, then toward the shoulder. At the marked turn he changed his stance, aligning hip and shoulder so the force would travel outward instead of up the spine.
“Do it again,” Gu said.
Yan repeated the motion. This time Gu shifted the target point on the dummy.
“Your first line aimed through the shoulder,” he said. “The force would have crossed too high.”
Yan looked at the chalk mark. “Then the hip has to turn with it.”
“Show me.”
Yan adjusted his feet and followed the new line with his palm. No qi moved. The drill was only a map of the body, and his muscles felt warm from the stance work. He could see the difference between a memorized motion and one adjusted to the target.
“Your shoulder is lifting before your hip turns,” Gu said.
Yan lowered it. “I was trying to keep the force from slipping.”
“You’re holding it in your neck. If you tense there, the route changes before it reaches the mark.” Gu picked up a short wooden pointer and traced the chalk line. His fingers shook, but the tip followed the path precisely. “The route has to be ready before you add force. Otherwise you will correct too late.”
Yan reset his feet. He turned the hip first and let the shoulder follow. His palm traveled over the dummy along the chalk line, slower than before. At the release mark, he stopped and opened his hand. The motion felt awkward, but the line stayed true.
“Again,” Gu said.
Yan tried once more. This time he moved without lifting the shoulder. He reached the release point and let his breath out, though he had not gathered qi. The movement finished cleanly.
“That is closer,” Gu said. “Do you feel where you were forcing it?”
“In my neck.”
“Then remember the feeling of stopping before that.”
Yan flexed his hand. “If the route is right but the force is too small, will it still strain the marrow?”
“Any cultivation can strain a body. A small charge lowers the danger; it does not erase it.”
“And the first strike could still break the stone?”
“The text says it can. We’ll start with a small target. I won’t promise what it can do until we see it.”
Yan looked at the chalked wooden chest. The method’s promise was real enough to make him eager, but the missing breath mark could not be solved by wanting a strong strike. He brushed the chalk from the dummy’s arm and waited for Gu to redraw the line.
Yan looked at the wooden chest. “Can I practice the first circulation under your supervision?”
“Not today.”
“I have the sequence.”
“You have a corrected copy and a good memory. We have not checked the final line against the body diagram.” Gu marked the release point again. “The ordinary effect of this technique is still marrow strain and bone damage. The System has not given you any knowledge or reward for reading it.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Yan did not answer immediately. The method could give him force enough to break stone braces. It could also leave him unable to stand under his own weight. He had no reason to pretend the danger became smaller because he wanted to help Ning.
“I believe the warning,” he said.
Gu studied him, then nodded. “If you still want to try it, we can set a low charge and a stone target at dawn. I will watch the sequence and the target. You decide whether to continue.”
“Will you stop me if I lose the breath pattern?”
“Yes.”
“Not if the expected pressure begins?”
“I can’t make that choice for you.”
Yan accepted the answer. Gu would watch the route, not take responsibility for the risk he chose. They agreed to meet in the alcove before the first shift, when the room was empty and no curious apprentice could interrupt.
The library bell rang while Yan was halfway through reciting the sequence. Gu closed the book before the final line.
“Last three breaths,” he said.
Yan gave them from memory. At the end, he stopped. “You skipped the final turn in your explanation.”
Gu looked down at the page. His brow tightened. “I did.”
“Was that the mark we restored?”
“No. I rushed.” Gu rubbed the chalk from his thumb. “You caught it.”
Yan smiled. “You said every line mattered.”
“And so it does.” Gu shut the book. “Remember that tomorrow.”
They put the diagrams back into the cabinet and returned the training dummy to its place. Gu signed the register for the Ashen Marrow Scripture and checked the key. Yan carried his beginner chart back to the desk.
He left the library with no added strength, no System notice, and no change in realm. He had a sequence he could recite, a target he could aim at, and a teacher who would make him stop when he lost the count. At dawn they would find out whether preparation was enough to begin.