The underground chamber shivered in anticipation, a stillness so absolute it seemed as though even the air held its breath. Shadows clung to the walls, curling and stretching in subtle movements as if the semi-conscious glyphs embedded in the stone were alive, observing, waiting. At the center, Liuyun knelt before the living scroll, his chest rising and falling rapidly, veins pulsing with the tremors of ink and blood. The first character, 「靜」, hovered above the surface where it had been written, glowing faintly in dark crimson, a steady heartbeat in the otherwise motionless air. Yet the second character, 「墨」, remained unformed, an empty promise suspended in potential energy.
He had felt the stirrings of the second Ink Vein within him for weeks, subtle pulses at first, then waves of pressure coiling along his arms, chest, and spine. Each sensation had been a whisper of possibility, a forewarning of the agony to come. Now, with the scroll's sentient presence before him, he understood that no ordinary ink could channel the latent power required. Only blood—the essence of life and will—could awaken the dormant Vein. The thought tightened his chest with anticipation and dread, the knowledge of pain intertwined with the intoxicating allure of transcendence.
Liuyun gritted his teeth, holding the calligraphy brush in trembling hands. He pricked his palm with a fine needle, letting a droplet of blood fall onto the inkstone. The moment it touched the surface, the ink hissed faintly, writhing as if alive, reluctant yet drawn to the vitality within him. Pain flared immediately, shooting up his arm, coiling along his veins with a fire that was both scorching and intoxicating. His breath caught in his throat, and the first Vein pulsed violently in instinctive defense, threading living ink along his bloodstream to mediate the sudden surge.
He forced himself to exhale, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat guide the ink, threading the currents of blood into the semi-conscious patterns of the first Vein. Every pulse sent tremors through the chamber, resonating with the semi-conscious glyphs along the walls. Shadows shivered, curling tighter, and the air seemed to vibrate with anticipation. The living scroll pulsed in response, its surface quivering, as if aware that a communion beyond ordinary inscription was beginning.
The brush touched the paper, and the blood ink flowed, crawling hesitantly at first, coiling along the lines of intention that Liuyun traced in his mind. Pain flared with every movement; his muscles trembled violently, and his consciousness strained under the dual pressure of Ink Qi and blood energy. The second Vein had not yet stabilized, and every pulse threatened to fracture his body or shatter his soul. Yet he persisted, threading life force through ink with meticulous focus, letting the semi-conscious energy of his first Vein mediate the flow.
Dark red tendrils extended from the blood, writhing over the paper, crawling upward as if alive. The scroll reacted instantly, pulsing with recognition, its semi-conscious presence reaching out to intertwine with the nascent Vein forming within Liuyun. Pain sharpened, a vicious spike that coiled along his spine, yet he remained steadfast, threading intent through suffering, threading discipline through agony. Every movement of the brush, every pulse of blood, every contraction of muscle was a negotiation with his own body and the semi-conscious ink that demanded both submission and communion.
His vision blurred. Shadows on the walls seemed to flicker and twist, some taking tentative shapes of half-formed characters, hovering between reality and perception. The living ink in his veins writhed like serpents, coiling, uncoiling, probing for alignment with the burgeoning second Vein. Each breath was a struggle; each heartbeat sent tremors of pain through marrow and soul. And yet, through the chaos of sensation, a thread of clarity emerged: the Vein responded to his will, however tentatively, as if testing his resolve, assessing his capacity for endurance.
The ink glowed brighter, dark crimson flowing like rivers of molten night, crawling across the paper and radiating outward in subtle pulses that brushed against the semi-conscious glyphs around the chamber. Shadows twisted in recognition, curling toward him, observing the precise threading of blood and intent. The chamber itself seemed alive with anticipation, vibrating with the tension of an awakening power.
Pain intensified, searing through his veins, coiling into the newly forming channels of the second Vein. Every fiber of his body screamed, yet Liuyun allowed his consciousness to thread through the pain, aligning intent with suffering. Blood and ink fused, not merely as medium and pigment but as conduits of life, consciousness, and semi-conscious energy. The second Vein began to pulse in response, coiling delicately along its nascent pathways, writhing yet seeking stability, demanding absolute focus and sacrifice.
His breath came in short, measured gasps. Vision swimming, arms trembling, he continued the meticulous movements, each stroke of the brush a careful negotiation with semi-conscious ink, blood, and Vein. The pain was unrelenting, yet in its extremity, a strange clarity emerged—an awareness that the communion with the Ink Dao was not merely technical, but existential. His blood was not ink, and yet, within this ritual, it became one. Life became medium, consciousness became pigment, and suffering became channel.
A sudden surge of energy coiled violently through him, and the chamber reacted. Shadows twisted, semi-conscious glyphs shivering and vibrating, and the faint glow of the scroll intensified, pulsing like a heartbeat in unison with Liuyun's own. The second Vein began to respond with autonomous rhythm, its currents threading through his body, stabilizing incrementally, yet still raw, untamed, and dangerous. Pain screamed along his spine and shoulders, yet a voice, subtle and inward, whispered through his consciousness: Endure. Thread. Commune. Persist.
He did not falter. The brush traced arcs of intent across the paper, and with each movement, the dark red blood ink flowed more confidently, responding to the rhythm of his consciousness. Tendrils of living ink extended from the paper, writhing, coiling, exploring the chamber, probing the semi-conscious glyphs along the walls. The ink's glow intensified further, dark red radiance creeping across the floor, licking along the stone like a living tide. The second Vein pulsed in harmony, a rhythm slowly stabilizing, bridging consciousness, blood, and ink into a tenuous, delicate union.
Pain remained, brutal and intimate, yet clarity emerged. Liuyun's first Vein flowed in measured harmony, mediating the surges, while the second Vein formed tentative channels, threading life force and ink with unprecedented precision. Every contraction of muscle, every pulse of blood, every exhalation of breath became an instrument in a symphony of creation, suffering, and transcendence.
He pressed forward, drawing the final arcs of the character with trembling hands. A wave of unrelenting energy surged through him, threatening to rupture consciousness entirely. Shadows twisted violently, semi-conscious glyphs on the walls writhing and flickering. The blood ink pulsed like molten night, crawling across the paper in final confirmation. Pain and clarity intertwined into a singular experience, a brutal communion with the Dao of Ink.
And then, at last, it was complete. The second character, 「墨」, hovered above the surface, its dark red glow radiating outward like a heartbeat of the chamber itself. Tendrils of living ink extended in all directions, curling along walls, floor, and ceiling, semi-conscious threads observing and acknowledging the successful communion. The second Ink Vein throbbed within Liuyun, unstable yet stable enough to allow controlled flow. His body trembled, soaked with sweat and tinged with faint blood, but his consciousness remained intact.
The chamber itself seemed to inhale, the semi-conscious glyphs quivering as though aware of the enormity of what had been achieved. Shadows twisted subtly, coiling toward the glowing characters, acknowledging the union of blood, ink, and consciousness. The air shimmered, saturated with latent energy, and the dark red glow of the character expanded outward, filling the chamber with molten light, a tide of living ink radiating the essence of the Dao.
Liuyun sank to his knees, exhausted, muscles trembling violently. The pain was still present, yet it had become structured, disciplined, a reflection of the second Vein's nascent stability. Dark red tendrils of ink moved subtly along his body, extending outward, probing, sensing, acknowledging the communion. The second Vein had begun its life, pulsating rhythmically in alignment with the first, bridging consciousness, blood, and ink into a unified flow.
He exhaled slowly, letting his awareness expand into the chamber. The dark red glow of the ink seemed to swallow the space, filling every crevice, curling along the walls, crawling across the floor, and brushing against the semi-conscious glyphs. The glow was not merely illumination—it was life, awareness, and presence, a reflection of the brutal, poetic communion that had just transpired.
For a moment, Liuyun allowed himself a quiet acknowledgment of the enormity of the act. Pain lingered, the Vein pulsed fiercely within him, and the semi-conscious glyphs shifted in recognition, but the communion had succeeded. Blood and ink had merged into life; the second Ink Vein had begun to awaken. The chamber itself resonated with the dark red radiance, shadows curling and twisting, semi-conscious glyphs observing in silent witness.
And at the center, above the scroll, the two characters hovered: 「靜」 and 「墨」, twin beacons of living ink, pulsating in rhythm with his first and second Veins. The air quivered around them, shadows bowed subtly, and the chamber seemed to breathe, acknowledging the brutal, transcendental act that had just unfolded. Tendrils of ink writhing from the paper extended into the corners of the hall, as if reaching for the very foundations of the underground sanctuary, coiling, observing, and responding to the awakened power within Liuyun.
The first step toward mastery of the second Vein had been completed. Pain had been endured, blood had been spilled, and consciousness threaded through the living ink. The chamber was alive with recognition, semi-conscious glyphs, shadows, and ink all acknowledging the brutal, poetic triumph. The dark red glow radiated outward, a pulse of life and ink so intense it