Wuchen read the fragment in the smallest space he could claim.
Not his mat alcove. Too close to Wei's footsteps.
Not the outer dorm. Too many eyes.
He sat behind the storage shed where old lantern oil was kept, where the smell of stale fat covered the smell of paper and made most servants avoid it. He held the stitched booklet close to the lamp flame and read until the characters blurred.
It wasn't a grand method.
No soaring names. No talk of heaven.
It was a cheap breathing patch meant for people with weak channels and leaky Origin.
That was why it was useful.
It taught only three things: how to stack the breath, how to seal the tongue and throat to stop qi from rising too fast, and how to "pin" the lower abdomen with a tiny tension that wasn't clenching, more like holding back a cough.
Hold back a cough.
Wuchen understood that.
He had held back screams.
He had held back hunger.
He had held back the urge to run before a man decided to chase him.
So he practiced.
Spine straight.
Tongue pressed.
Inhale in three small layers instead of one long pull.
Exhale even slower, letting the belly stay slightly full, not emptying completely.
The method called it "stacking the breath like bowls."
Thin bowls.
Still bowls.
When night came, Wei brought him to the side room again.
The bronze dish waited, spirit sand grains glinting like trapped stars.
Gu Yan sat across from him, calm.
He didn't ask if Wuchen had read. He already knew. Gu Yan always acted like he knew, and sometimes that made it true.
Gu Yan nodded once. "Show me," he said.
Wuchen sat and began the stacked breathing from the fragment, keeping his face dull.
Gu Yan watched his shoulders, his throat, the subtle movement of his lower abdomen like a man reading a text written under skin.
After a few breaths, Gu Yan's fingers pressed lightly below Wuchen's navel.
The familiar cold touch.
Wuchen didn't flinch this time.
"Better," Gu Yan murmured. "Your cup is still thin, but your rim is steadier."
Wei stepped forward with the bamboo spoon.
One grain.
Wuchen swallowed.
Warmth slid down.
He held it.
He stacked breath.
He pinned the lower abdomen lightly the way the fragment taught, as if holding back a cough.
The warmth settled lower than before, becoming a tiny pressure coin in his belly.
It wavered.
He held.
Gu Yan's voice was soft. "Good," he said. "Now don't celebrate."
Wei tipped the spoon again.
Second grain.
Wuchen swallowed.
The warmth doubled, trying to surge upward like a panicked animal. His chest tightened. His fingers twitched.
He almost lost it.
He stacked breath again, slower this time, forcing the warmth down, down, into the quiet hollow.
His abdomen felt heavier, not hot, just occupied.
For three breaths, it stayed.
Then the familiar leaking began: a faint warmth drifting into his palms, a tingling at fingertips, a soft heat behind his eyes.
Wuchen clenched his jaw and corrected his breath, pinning again.
The leak slowed.
Not stopped.
Slowed.
Gu Yan's fingers pressed and held for a moment, then lifted away. "Enough," he said.
Wuchen's eyes opened.
Sweat dampened his hairline, but he had not collapsed. The pressure in his belly still existed, small but real.
Two grains.
Not gone.
Gu Yan smiled faintly. "You leaked less," he said.
Wuchen bowed. "Yes."
Gu Yan's eyes brightened slightly. "That means you're learning," he said. "Learning is expensive, so you will pay."
Wuchen's stomach tightened. "How?"
Gu Yan tapped the bronze dish with a fingernail. "You will run an errand for me," he said gently. "To Senior Sister Lan."
Wuchen's breath caught.
Gu Yan watched that breath like he was tasting it. "She's curious," he said softly. "So we feed her something she thinks she stole."
Wuchen's throat went dry. "What do I carry?"
Gu Yan slid a small sealed envelope across the mat.
No emblem on the wax. Plain red.
"An apology," Gu Yan said mildly. "For Shen Lu."
Wuchen's stomach tightened. Shen Lu was her man. Her dog.
An apology was a knife with ribbon.
Gu Yan leaned forward, voice low. "You will give it to her personally," he said. "Not to a servant. Not to Luo Ping. To Lan."
Wuchen bowed. "Yes."
Gu Yan's eyes stayed on him. "And you will watch her hands," he added softly. "Watch what she does with the wax. Watch if she reads. Watch if she smiles."
Wuchen swallowed. "And then report."
Gu Yan nodded once, pleased. "Exactly."
Wei stepped closer and placed the envelope into Wuchen's hands. The wax seal was warm, fresh.
Gu Yan's final instruction landed softly, like a finger on a throat. "If Lan asks how you're holding up," he said, "you tell her you're leaking."
Wuchen's eyes tightened.
Gu Yan smiled. "Let her think you're still weak," he murmured. "Weak prey is easier to bait."
Wuchen bowed low and stood, envelope tucked under his robe, two grains of qi held in his belly like a secret weight.
As he left the room, he realized the method fragment hadn't only taught him to hold qi.
It had taught him to hold lies tighter too.
And tonight, he was being sent to carry a lie directly into Lan's hands.