Chapter 5 — Qi Sensitivity

Lin Che was in the middle of a dream when someone knocked on his bedroom door.

He opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times to get the gunk out of his eyes. He blinked a half-second too long and began to drift back to the dreamworld.

“Lin Che!”

“I’m awake,” he said, which was approximately true.

“Call in sick today,” came his wife’s voice from the other side of the door.

“Alright.”

He stretched his arms and pushed himself off the bed with a yawn before opening the curtains. He had, in fact, already called in sick for today — a habit so ingrained across his loops that he’d done it on autopilot. Admitting this would require an explanation he wasn’t prepared to give.

He got up, got dressed, and did not mention it.

Shen Yue was waiting by the door in her coat when he came out, which meant she had been ready for some time and had chosen to knock rather than simply leave. That meant she had been waiting for him.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Errands.”

He rushed to the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash his face with some water before following her out.

***

The pharmacy was a ten-minute walk away, which he knew, because he had already followed her here on day twelve and stood across the street from it, stalking his wife. Up close, it looked much more pleasant — a small, slightly cluttered shop with dried things in jars and a wooden aesthetic that matched.

A bell rang when they entered.

A man in his forties stood behind the counter making notes in a ledger with a feather pen. He looked up and raised an eyebrow when the couple walked in.

“Miss Shen,” he said. Then, with a distinctly different register: “…and guest.”

“This is my husband,” said Shen Yue.

The pharmacist looked at Lin Che with a gaze that swept through him with a rapid and not entirely flattering assessment. Lin Che extended a hand.

“Hu Baolin,” the man said, without offering his hand in return. He turned to Shen Yue. “You’re earlier than expected. Your next treatment isn’t for another three days.”

“I’m not here for that,” said Shen Yue. “I need inferior grade herbs — breath-opening blend.”

Hu Baolin’s eyes moved back and forth between her and Lin Che, making a point without making a point. “Inferior grade,” he repeated.

“For a beginner,” she said.

“Evidently so.”

He closed his ledger and came around the counter, moving through the shop with a confidence that implied the mess was organised.

And organised it was. He began pulling jars from shelves and retrieved a cloth bag from the wall without looking.

“First time?” he asked Lin Che.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Sensitive stomach?”

“Not usually.”

Hu Baolin made a grunt that managed to convey a complete medical opinion without using words. He set the items on the counter and looked at them, before pointing a finger up in enlightenment, turning around, and adding one more bundle from the shelf behind him.

“This one,” he said, tapping it, “smells absolutely terrible. Don’t let that put you off. The smell means it’s working.”

He began wrapping things up in paper at expert pace.

“You’ll want to use a heavy pot — cast iron is preferred. Don’t let it boil past a simmer or you’ll cook out the active compounds and end up with expensive tea, or worse. Depends on what your body can handle.”

He tied the parcel with string and set it on the counter. He looked at Shen Yue. “Watch him.”

Hu Baolin named a price for which Lin Che had no reference, but was probably fair. His wife’s credit card footed the bill this time round.

***

Shen Yue made him carry the parcel and walked a couple of paces away from him.

Back in the kitchen, she cleared the counter and told him to put the parcel down. She unwrapped it herself and sorted each item into a sort of mise en place for alchemy, moving with the familiarity of someone who had done this many times in different kitchens.

“Get the heavy pot,” she ordered. “The cast iron one kept in the oven.”

He got it.

“Have you cooked with it before?”

“I’ve used cast iron before.”

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“Good. You know how it holds heat.”

She filled it with water from the filter — not the tap, he noted — and set it on the stove. “The objective today is simple. These herbs, prepared correctly, will open your Qi pathways very slightly. It won’t be enough to cultivate, nowhere near that. But it will be enough to feel something. Enough to sense a disturbance if something is nearby.”

“LIke the thing on the street,” he nodded.

“Like that, yes. You won’t be able to identify it or respond to it, but you’ll feel it before it reaches you, which gives you time to move.”

She began adding things to the pot in a sequence he paid close attention to. The timing and order certainly mattered — he could tell because she paused between additions and only added in herbs after a visual or olfactory cue relayed that information over.

The one that smelt terrible went in last. Hu Baolin had understated the smell.

“That’s bad,” he said, pinching his nose.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Be glad your nose isn’t as sensitive as mine. Do you now understand why I had you carry it home?”

She reduced the heat to low and set a timer on her phone for thirty seconds. Then, she leaned against the counter and looked at her husband.

“Two more things,” she said. “Add me as your emergency contact. Whatever you currently have there, replace it.”

He took out his phone and did as she asked. His previous emergency contact had been Xu Fang, a good friend of his from his school days, but someone who would be completely useless in any situation Shen Yue was equipped to handle. He moved Xu Fang to second.