Chapter 13 — Crimson Miasma Powder

Sunday came too quick for a restless Lin Che, who had spent the entire night pondering between his options. He still hadn’t fully made up his mind, so just lay there for a while and thought about it some more, at least until the sunlight shined through his window.

He decided that the best way to decide on a technique would be via recounting his previous deaths and what led to them.

The deaths he didn’t count were the early ones from before he understood that the world had a second layer running beneath the visible one and that his wife was part of it. Those deaths were simply due to his lack of awareness, and no amount of technique could do anything to assist with that. And besides, for someone in a time loop, knowledge is something that accumulates over resets anyway.

The deaths that really mattered started after he knew about this world.

The mannequin was the first thing that came to mind — he’d been killed by it a couple of times, both before he understood what it was, and after he understood what it was but couldn’t do anything about it. The second time had been more instructive, as he’d sensed it coming but hadn’t been able to move fast enough away from it.

It turned out that the gap between sensing a thing and being able to act on what you’d sensed was indeed a gap you could die in.

That one he was less worried about now, at least in the short term. If Shen Bowen really did exterminate the local mannequins, he was safe in the short term. More importantly, it implied that he could rely on his wife’s backing to a certain extent to improve his survivability.

In addition, his Qi sensitivity was now great enough to identify certain threats at a specific level so that he could adapt his routes to avoid such dangers. If he couldn’t identify something, it wasn’t something he’d be able to survive at his stage anyway, regardless of how tough his body was.

It’d be better to die a quick death from something unavoidable than to be conscious whilst, for example, having his head hammered into the concrete thanks to a tough constitution.

The poison was different, however.

He’d identified where the poison was — the red dust in his air conditioning unit, and neutralised the threat with a vacuum cleaner, but, aside from that, had no clue where the poison came from. He had his suspicions, but there wasn’t enough evidence to come to a proper conclusion: all he knew came from the CCTV footage on his doorbell, which was very much inconclusive.

But the way it had arrived: during a time in his life where he had, by all measures, been completely unremarkable, with no cultivation and no involvement with anything adjacent to Shen Yue’s world. It was just him going to work, coming home, and existing as Lin Che.

He got up and went to make a cup of tea.

***

Shen Yue was already at the kitchen counter waiting for the kettle to boil the water. She looked up when he came in.

“Internal arts,” he said, before she could ask. “I’ve decided.”

She reached into the pocket of her cardigan, unlocked her phone, and slid it across the counter towards him without a word. He picked it up and saw a grid of folders contained within a shared drive.

There was a search bar at the top and sort options, where the list had already been filtered by the tag beginner and Liuhe. There were eighteen options to scroll through and choose from.

He went through the first sweep through without stopping, simply skimming through the names of each technique to see if any caught his eye. He was mainly hoping for a cliche, where a hidden technique would be listed and beckoning him to choose it, but unfortunately no such call came from the shared folder.

The second time round, he passed through all sorts of methods: the Iron Sediment Method, Sleeping River Technique, Marrow Settling Art, Still Water Listening Technique, and so on and so forth, but, other than sounding interesting, he didn’t feel much from them. He kept on scrolling through a dozen more entries, slowing occasionally, before stopping on one.

Hollow Bell Purification Art

The body is not merely a vessel to be filled, but a boundary to be maintained. This technique cultivates the Qi into a state of active internal hostility towards foreign intrusion through incompatibility. Where other purification techniques filter impurities after they have entered, the Hollow Bell Art makes the internal environment itself inhospitable to what does not belong, in the same way that certain waters do not support certain life.

He set the phone down, just as Shen Yue set a steaming mug of tea in front of him.

“Hollow Bell Purification Art,” he said.

She reached across, took the phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times. A moment later, a QR code appeared on her screen, which he promptly scanned to open a video link.

Hollow Bell Purification Art — Foundation Stage (Intermediate) — WATCH FULL

The thumbnail showed the same man in that same garage-dojo with the same wall of calligraphy and stripped birch behind him. Lin Che looked at the channel for a moment before taking a sip of his tea to clear his throat.

“Still the same man,” he said.

“He’s thorough,” she replied.

Lin Che locked his phone and put it in his pocket. “I’ll watch it after the pharmacy.”

She nodded and poured herself another cup.

***

Hu Baolin was, for once, standing up in the pharmacy when Lin Che entered and the bell rang.

“Mr Lin,” he said. “Punctual.”

“I try.”

Hu Baolin gestured for Lin Che to follow him through the narrow doorway behind the register and into the back of the pharmacy. The back was significantly smaller, and much more densely organised, with labelled shelves in handwriting so small that Lin Che had to squint to read it properly. There was also a set of miscellaneous tools in a small plastic box on the floor, which contained a mortar and pestle, a set of scales, and a couple of other implements, and blocked access to the door which led further back into the shop.

“The system I use to organise is by property rather than by name,” said Hu Baolin. “Here—”

He pointed to the left wall. “Warming herbs, cooling herbs, drying, moistening, and, within each category, alphabetical by common name.” He moved onto the right wall. “Prepared compounds on this side, and prescriptions waiting for collection in that box there with all the paper bags.”

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He reached out and opened the box, pulling out one paper bag. “The names are on this side alongside the reference number if someone else collects their prescription. You— you can read, right?”

“Yes,” said Lin Che.

“Good. You confirm the person’s name, confirm the reference number if you have to, and you hand it over. You do not discuss the contents if they ask; you come and get me.”

He produced his phone and tapped it a couple of times. Lin Che’s phone buzzed.

“Herb identification app,” Hu Baolin said. “Just snap a photo and it will give you the name and a basic summary of its properties to help with organisation. It’s not infallible, so cross-reference with the shelf labels and me if you’re uncertain.” He paused. “Any questions so far?”

Lin Che looked at the door that was made inaccessible due to the sheer amount of plastic boxes in the room. “What’s through the far door?”

“Storage.”

“No other questions.”

“Good.” Hu Baolin moved back towards the front of the shop. “I’ll leave you here to get used to the system. Just come out when the bell rings. I’ll be upstairs doing some admin in the meantime”

***

The first customer arrived around an hour later, and it was a woman who appeared to be in her forties with a canvas bag over one arm and silver hoop earrings. She went straight to the counter, saw Lin Che behind it, and stopped.

“Where’s Baolin?” she asked.

“Upstairs,” he replied. “Can I help you?”

She furrowed her brow for a split second before returning to her original, slightly sour, facial expression. “Prescription,” she said, and placed a folded slip of paper on the counter.

Lin Che unfolded it.

Name: Wei Chunhua

Reference NO: 3871