At the midpoint, he performed the tempering, which older alchemists called "calling the spine." He flushed the furnace with a controlled gust of wind-qi, then slammed it down with an earth pulse. The pressure balanced the current, tightened the weave, and coaxed a single core from the chaos: a bead of living color suspended in the syrup, refusing to dissolve.
That core was as fragile as a newborn. To harden it without killing its subtle harmonics, another ritual was needed: slow cooling. He drew chilled baths of distilled spring water, ice infused with quiet mountain qi, and dripped it in tiny, timed measures. Drop by drop, the core contracted and became denser when he tapped the ladle.
