Adventure of Zhāng Wújì 1

The widening seam of light opens wider beneath Zhāng Wújì’s feet, just as it did before. He follows it into the Hall of Tempering, expecting guidance. Instead, the glow threads through the floor like bait.

The truth snaps into place. The seam is a formation, not a road, and it is drinking the living vitality of anyone who steps near it. The garden drinks, then blooms brighter for it.

Ancient herbs sway in the underground air, their glow steady and cold. The parasitic jade bond in Zhāng Wújì’s body answers at once, tugging his qi toward the formation’s hidden channels.

Xùn remains half-swallowed by shadow, watching without moving. The Hall is no safety, but it is a forge, and the seam keeps pulling at Zhāng Wújì’s meridians as if measuring what he can survive.

The pressure is familiar now, tied to the jade bond’s long repayment. This is not a new trial. It is the same debt, returning with interest, and the garden is waiting to see whether his body can bear the next session.

Zhāng Wújì lowers his hand into the seam and lets the drain bite. Qi pulls hard, but he does not resist. He turns the loss inward, forcing the flow to twist under his will.

His meridians flare with pain as the formation shudders. The glowing lines in the floor bend, then split their rhythm, no longer feeding the garden in a clean loop.

For one breath, the herbs dim. Then the light reverses, threading back toward Zhāng Wújì and his jade bond in a rougher, harsher pulse.

The seam collapses into a smaller lattice at his feet, obedient for the moment. His forearm trembles, blood slicking his fingers, but the drain now answers his timing instead of the garden's.

Across the chamber, the black monument catches the new rhythm and glows a shade brighter, its cracked surface stuttering with approval.