The sky had not yet lightened.
Helian Xiang sat in the pivot chamber, two waveforms before him.
The Northern Camp. City West.
He had looked at them all night. Not insomnia, but that state of---not quite knowing why he didn't want to leave yet. The waveforms flowed quietly on the ice mirror, inhale, depression, exhale; inhale, straight line, exhale. Two lines, identical rhythm, yet forever misaligned at the depression.
He called up a third waveform. The daily breathing records of another border settlement. Then he did something he had never done before---
Added a parameter.
He didn't overthink it. Just wanted to know: if a tiny noise signal was injected into the depression, how would the waveform react?
Test name: "Empty Space Stability Test."
First round. Micro-disturbance injected. The Northern waveform trembled slightly, then recovered. The depression remained.
Second round. Disturbance intensified. The waveform shook more noticeably, but the depression---rebounded. Like water struck by a pebble, ripples spread, then returned to stillness.
Third round. Sustained disturbance. The depression's edges showed extremely slight smoothing. Not disappearance, but the sharp corners were worn down a little.
He wrote in his report:
"Empty space can withstand mild disturbance. Under high-intensity sustained disturbance, edges show a trend toward smoothing. Suggestion: Include in long-term observation project."
Finished writing, he sent the report out.
Then called up the next waveform---the daily breathing records of another border settlement. A new waveform unfolded on the ice mirror, smooth, complete, without any depression requiring his attention a moment longer.
He began a new round of tests.
He did not look at the Northern waveform again. The depression was still on the ice mirror, but he no longer needed to look. The test was complete, the report sent, what needed recording was recorded. What remained was the next task.
Very natural.
Outside the window, the moonlight shone as usual. His hand rested on the ice mirror's edge, the spot he had pressed all night. Now, as he moved it away, only the mirror's inherent temperature remained there.
He did not look down.
The more natural, the colder.
The report was filed into the "Pending Discussion" folder. No one gave it a second glance. It was just one of hundreds of routine documents that day, lying quietly there, waiting to be retrieved someday---or never.
Helian Xiang did not look at the Northern waveform again.
He was just working.
Noon. The Imperial Medical Academy.
The interrogation room was small. A long table, three people on each side. Lu Wanning sat alone on her side. Opposite: the Chief Imperial Physician, and two senior imperial physicians.
The Chief Imperial Physician's tone was as mild as if discussing the weather:
"Physician Lu, we have reviewed your medical cases from the Northern border. There are a few points we wish to clarify."
Lu Wanning nodded.
"Cases not recorded in the classics, how do you verify their truth?"
Lu Wanning took a case file from her robe and pushed it across the table.
"A three-year-old child. Cried incessantly at night. We tried all classical formulas, to no effect. Later discovered, every time the child cried at night, it coincided with the time his mother went to fetch water at the well. Had the mother hold the child for a while after fetching water before attending to other matters. Three days later, the crying stopped."
She looked up:
"If it stopped after three days, is that proof?"
A senior physician interjected: "Could be a coincidence."
Lu Wanning nodded, her tone very flat:
"Yes. Could be a coincidence."
She paused.
"But if it's not recorded in the classics, does that necessarily mean it's invalid?"
Silence.
Three breaths.
The Chief Imperial Physician spoke:
"What is recorded in the classics is truth verified through generations. What is unrecorded is unverified and cannot be used lightly."
Lu Wanning nodded again:
"Yes. Cannot be used lightly."
She took out another scroll from her robe---a very old one, the paper yellowed, edges brittle. That was from deep in the repository last night; she didn't know why she had brought it.
"Which category should this scroll belong to?"
The Chief Imperial Physician took it, opened it. When he reached the last page, his hand paused slightly. On it was written a line---not any earth-shattering statement, just a record, written many years ago.
He didn't speak.
Closed the scroll, pushed it back.
"Pending Discussion."
Two words.
It was the place where syntax stalled.
Lu Wanning put away the scroll, stood, bowed, and left.
Walking out the door, she did not look back.
The corridor was long. Sunlight streamed through the lattice window at the end, cutting strips of light and shadow on the floor. She walked through those shadows, step by step, without stopping.
Behind her, the door closed softly.
"Pending Discussion."
Same texture as He Sanshi's "Continue" last night.
Not an answer.
It was the place where syntax stalled.
Dusk. The inn.
Seven people sat in the same room. No one spoke.
The light outside the window was fading. The glow seeped back through the paper, receding inch by inch, like someone using an invisible brush, slowly erasing the day.
The rhythm of their breathing was now completely synchronized.
Inhale---empty space---exhale.
Inhale---empty space---exhale.
This was the fourth day after leaving camp. Seven chests expanded simultaneously, contracted simultaneously. In the empty space, there were six invisible people---spaces reserved for those left behind in the Northern Camp. No one had ever said to do this. But everyone's breath did it.
At one breath---
Shen Yuzhu's breath came half a beat early.
Not disorder. It was that kind of... being touched by something, a natural reaction. He wasn't even aware of it himself.
At that exact moment, three hundred li away, the ice crystal flower at East Three Sentry trembled. Not its petals---something deeper. The cold under Bo Zhong's palm had shallowed by one degree. And somewhere between the North and the capital, on that invisible root connecting them all, a tiny disturbance passed through---so slight, so brief, it was barely a tremor at all.
But it was enough.
Shen Yuzhu's breath found it.
Chu Hongying's eyes opened for an instant.
Very brief. Less than one breath.
She didn't correct it. Didn't adjust. Just opened her eyes for an instant, then continued her own breathing.
Next breath, the seven were synchronized again.
He Sanshi's finger, pressing on the map, paused.
Sun Jiu's hand, pressing on his left knee, tightened slightly.
Chen Si looked at his right hand, didn't move.
Lu Wanning pressed the note in her pocket, felt it---the temperature of that note seemed a few tenths of a degree cooler than just now. Or maybe not. She didn't know.
No one spoke.
No one asked "what just happened."
The half beat had passed. The breath had recovered. The traces left by that half beat were only in places the body remembered---a paused finger, a slightly tightened hand, eyes opening for less than a breath, a note in a pocket with an indescribable temperature.
Shen Yuzhu closed his eyes.
The Mirror-Sigil on his left arm wasn't warm. But his heartbeat was half a beat slower than usual.
That half beat just filled the half beat he had come early.
Not calculation. Not adjustment. It was the body finding its own balance---like a string plucked, the time it needs to return to its place naturally, exactly that half beat.
He didn't know what it was. But he knew, his body remembered.
Inhale---empty space---exhale.
In the empty space, still those six people.
But the edge of that empty space seemed slightly more blurred than this morning. As if lightly worn by something.
Hour of the Pig. The inn's courtyard.
Shen Yuzhu stood alone in the yard.
The moonlight was faint. The clouds were thick. Moonlight leaked through the rifts in the clouds, casting fragmented patches of light on the ground.
He stood there.
No reason. Just walking, and ended up here. His footprints in the snow stretched from the room door all the way to where he now stood.
He looked up.
The southeastern corner of the imperial city, the silhouette of the Astrology Tower faintly visible against the moonlight. Dome, spire, and at the spire's top, that bronze mirror forever facing the sky.
In his robe, the brass key warmed for an instant.
Very brief. Less than one breath.
As long as that half beat this afternoon.
He lowered his head, pressed the spot through his robe. The brass key was already cool---or had never been warm. He didn't know if what he felt was real warmth, or just... remembered warmth.
But he remembered, at the same moment this afternoon, somewhere far away, something had touched him. And now, standing here, he knew---that touch had a direction.
He stood for a while.
Wind passed through the courtyard, very light, carrying the dry cold of the capital night, filtered through countless walls.
Then he turned and walked back to the room.
Didn't go to the Astrology Tower. Didn't climb the stairs. Didn't see the mirror keeper.
Just stood in the courtyard for a while.
The brass key warmed for an instant.
That was all.
He didn't know what it was.
He just remembered it.
The way to remember was simple: let his breath pause a little longer at that half-beat position.
Not now. From now on.
Midnight. The North. East Three Sentry.
Bo Zhong pressed against the dark boundary.
Right palm against that invisible line. From the night they left camp until now, he hadn't moved it. He ate with his left hand, slept leaning against the wooden stump for a while, and when he woke, his right hand was still there.
The pulse was steady.
Inhale---empty space---exhale. Inhale---empty space---exhale. Over three hundred chests, breathing in the same rhythm. He could feel, under his palm, the darkness rising and falling softly with those breaths.
At one instant this afternoon---
He felt the cold under his palm had shallowed by one degree.
Not warm. The cold had become shallower. As if something, from very deep, had seeped up a tiny bit.
He didn't look down then. Didn't confirm. Just kept pressing.
Now, in the moonlight, he finally looked.
The ice crystal flower bloomed quietly.
Six petals fully formed, facets sharp, refracting the moonlight---red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo. The seventh petal, still a blurred outline.
But that outline was deeper than yesterday. As if something from far away had traced it.
The cold of the flower had shallowed by one degree.
That was all.
He kept pressing.
The pulse was steady. Inhale---empty space---exhale.
In the empty space, there were seven people in the capital.
He didn't know what they experienced this afternoon.
But he knew---they were still breathing.
And he knew---that shallowing of cold meant something.
What it meant, he didn't need to name.
The same midnight. Nightcrow Division.
Helian Xiang was still in the pivot chamber. Still processing the next waveform.
On the ice mirror, the Northern waveform hung quietly---inhale, depression, exhale. Same as this morning. The depression's position hadn't deepened. The smoothness of its edges hadn't increased.
He didn't look at it again.
The report had been sent. The test was done. What needed recording was recorded. Now it was the next task.
A new waveform flowed across the mirror. Clean. Complete. No depression demanding his attention.
He began the next test.
His breath had no empty beat.
His heartbeat wasn't half a beat slow.
He just sat there, calling up the next waveform, starting a new round.
Very natural.
Outside the window, the moonlight was faint.
He didn't know---at the same moment this afternoon, the cold in the North had shallowed by one degree, a half beat in the capital was remembered by a body, someone stood in a courtyard, a brass key warmed for an instant, and three hundred li away, a flower's seventh petal had been touched by something that crossed the distance without traveling.
He was just working.
The naturalness of it was the coldest thing of all.
Hour of the Tiger. Sky not yet light.
Seven people in the same room. No one spoke. The rhythm of breathing had returned to normal.
Inhale---empty space---exhale.
Inhale---empty space---exhale.
In the empty space, six invisible people.
Shen Yuzhu opened his eyes.
Outside the window, the sky was still dark. But he knew, in another hour, dawn would break.
He pressed the brass key in his robe. Cool. As cool as any ordinary piece of brass.
But he remembered the warmth of that instant this afternoon---if it truly was warmth. And he remembered the moment his breath had come early, and something from far away had met it there.
He didn't know what it was.
He just remembered it.
The way to remember was simple: let his breath pause a little longer at that half-beat position.
Not now. From now on.
Chu Hongying's voice, very soft, came from the window:
"Can't sleep?"
Shen Yuzhu didn't turn:
"Mm."
"What are you thinking about?"
Shen Yuzhu was silent for a moment.
"Thinking... some things happen, but you don't know if they count as happening."
Chu Hongying didn't respond.
Outside the window, the deepest darkness was passing. The faintest line of white appeared at the edge of the sky.
She spoke:
"They count."
Two words.
No explanation. No follow-up. Just "they count."
But Shen Yuzhu knew, these two words meant: she had seen that half beat. She didn't ask. She just let it count.
He closed his eyes.
Inhale---empty space---exhale.
He let his breath pause a little longer at that half-beat position.
In the empty space, besides those six people, there was now the length of a half beat added.
That half beat was for this afternoon. For the warmth that might have been real. For the cold that shallowed by one degree somewhere far away. For the seventh petal, still blurred, but deeper now.
Behind him, Sun Jiu shifted in his sleep. His left knee, even in dreams, remembered its pain. The bedboard creaked once, then settled.
Chen Si's right hand, resting on the blanket, moved the ring finger---just slightly, just enough to know it could still bend.
He Sanshi's map, pressed against his chest, rose and fell with each breath.
Lu Wanning's hand, in her pocket, touched the note. Still there. Still waiting for midnight, even though midnight had passed. Waiting itself was a shape.
Outside the window, that line of white at the sky's edge widened by another degree.
Shen Yuzhu exhaled.
In the empty space, that half beat was still there.
Not as a memory.
As part of the breath.
And somewhere between the capital and the North, on that invisible root that connected them all, the place where the half beat had passed was now marked. Not recorded. Not classified. Just... known.
The root deepened another inch.
Not because the soil had softened. Because the breath had found it.
From tonight---from this half beat---the waiting had a new rhythm.
Inhale.
Pause.
(half beat)
Exhale.
The same hour. The same darkness. The same breath.
Three hundred li away, Bo Zhong's palm pressed against the dark boundary. The ice crystal flower trembled, extremely lightly---its seventh petal, still blurred, but now holding the shape of something received.
Three hundred li in another direction, Helian Xiang called up another waveform. The test results flowed across the ice mirror. Normal. Expected. Classifiable.
He did not pause.
But in the log, deep in the system where no one looked, the Northern Camp's file recorded a single datum:
*Empty space stability: maintained. Edge smoothing: +0.3%.*
No one would ever retrieve that datum.
But it existed.
And somewhere between them all---between the flower and the question, between the waiting and the being, between the half beat and the breath that held it---
Something that had no name continued to grow.
Not toward anything.
Just deeper.
Because the half beat had been counted.
[CHAPTER 159 END]