Yan began Thousand Thorn Pulse with a measured breath. The method sent fine needles of qi through the practitioner’s channels, meant to tear tissue and leave the hands numb. The harmful feedback reversed before injury, sharpening his control and strengthening the channels. The sequence felt direct and easy to follow.
He could feel the force gathering at his palm, ready to travel into the marked stone. The court’s warning had been accurate for an ordinary body. He had no reason to doubt the danger described in the book; he could feel how the method expected to tear its user apart. For him, the movement instead became clearer with each turn.
Qinghe watched his wrist. She did not tell him when to strike; she watched for the angle they had just confirmed. Yan knew the direction. He wanted to hit the mark cleanly and let the audience see the real effect.
He pressed his palm to the arena floor.
A radial burst ran through the marked tiles. They lifted in a ring around his hand and settled near the edge of the pattern. The outward force remained strong, just as the manual promised. The audience ward held. The smaller markers behind it did not move.
