Hanlo began the chant again before the crowd could disperse. “First line. Push the qi through. Do not stop when your hands begin to shake.”
The front row hesitated. One person looked at the cut edge of the sheet, then at the brass bell. Another drew the first breath. Several followers moved with him, following the printed count and reaching toward the surge Hanlo had promised.
Qinghe called for them to stop. Her voice carried across the grove, but Hanlo’s chant rose over it. The first row’s qi began to gather in the same incomplete path. One student’s hand trembled; another leaned forward as if the ground had tilted.
Yan stepped into the lead position. He matched Hanlo’s rhythm, but he followed the complete Blood Ignition Art, whose recovery circulation he knew. The red pulse of his own qi cut across the preacher’s cadence. It was a deliberate, controlled circulation, not the cropped pattern on the handout.
The first full cycle opened through his meridians. Warmth moved cleanly from his center into his arms and legs. The art gave him its normal power; its intended lifespan cost reversed into added vitality. His muscles strengthened without the familiar drag of exhaustion. The motion felt natural, almost effortless. Yan smiled as the surge settled through him. He enjoyed the force and precision of it.
