The lookout above the north pylon faced the open sea. Yan stood where the wind came clean over the rocks and let the next Tidal Draw cycle begin. He followed Pema’s sequence in full: breath low, attention turned toward the tide, then the gather and release through his channels.
The first pass brought a thin current of sea qi. He held it without forcing the flow and let it settle in his dantian. Its strength felt bright and spare. The art’s personal drain became an easy lift in his body, and the gathered current remained his to direct. He could feel the difference between the two as clearly as the warmth of sun on his face.
He completed a second cycle. The current answered sooner. His breath found the rhythm without effort, and the strength that returned through him made his legs feel light against the rough ground. Yan laughed under his breath. He had expected a useful technique. He had not expected its practice to feel this satisfying.
Qinghe crouched beside the copper bowl and checked the etched lines. “That second pass is already above the first mark.”
“By how much?”
“Enough to record. Not enough to call it a ward measure.” She wrote the reading in her notebook and showed him the difference. “This is your personal cultivation in an open place. It tells Pema what you can gather here, not how a pylon behaves.”
