Withered Wood Meets Spring, A Warm Current Rises in a Broken Body

Early the next morning, before the sky had fully brightened, Chen Ping'an woke up.
He no longer lingered in bed, craving the pitiful warmth of his blankets as he used to; his movements were even smoother than before. A night of trials, though not yielding the miraculous effect of reshaping his body, had rekindled a small flame in his heart, which had been quiet for half a lifetime.
This spark was not yet enough to start a prairie fire, but it was sufficient to dispel the heavy air of old age surrounding him.

He still cooked his usual multi-grain porridge, but today as he ate, it tasted sweeter than before. After finishing breakfast, instead of heading straight to the pawnshop, he carried a slightly worn bamboo basket and merged into the bustling crowd on the street, heading toward the eastern market.
The morning market was always the most bustling place in Yanwei City. On the damp stone streets mixed with mud, the smell of fish mingled with the steam rising from freshly baked buns. The cries of vendors, the haggling of buyers, and the creaking of wheelbarrows formed a lively, noisy symphony.

Chen Ping'an had long been accustomed to this. Bowing his head slightly, he avoided the puddles and the crowd, walking straight to a permanent stall in a secluded corner of the market.
The stall owner was Granny Wang, a silver-haired, hunchbacked woman with failing eyesight who had been Chen Ping'an's neighbor for decades.
"Old Chen, what brings you here to pick things out yourself today?" Granny Wang called out with a smile, quickly tying a straw rope around the green vegetables in her hand.
"The weather is cold, and my legs are becoming less flexible."
Chen Ping'an pointed to his knees, a bitter smile fitting his age appearing on his face, carrying a hint of helplessness. "I heard that boiling ginger and mugwort to soak one's feet can promote blood circulation and clear the meridians, which is good for rheumatism. I came to see if you have any fresh ones."

He had calculated this explanation countless times in his mind; it was seamless and without loopholes.
"Then you've come to the right place! These were dug up from the soil just this morning. Look at this ginger, it still has fresh mud on it!" Granny Wang enthusiastically pulled a large handful from her basket, pointing to a bundle of mugwort beside it that exuded a unique, refreshing fragrance. "The mugwort is also of the best quality. Smell this fragrance."
Chen Ping'an nodded gently. Like an ordinary buyer, he selected several good pieces of fresh ginger and asked for a small bundle of mugwort. To avoid looking suspicious, he also bought some out-of-season Chinese cabbage and radishes, filling his bamboo basket.

Paying the money and exchanging a few pleasantries with Granny Wang, he slung the basket over his shoulder and quietly departed, merging back into the crowd. From start to finish, his words and actions were merely those of an ordinary old man troubled by old rheumatism, drawing absolutely no attention.
During the day, business at the pawnshop proceeded as usual. Chen Ping'an's mind, however, was no longer on those cold pawned items. While he appeared to be calculating accounts, his mind was repeatedly reviewing the words of the half-volume of the remnant manual, weighing every minor detail.
Having finally endured until sunset, he declined the apprentice Little Zhang's invitation to drink and returned alone to his quiet courtyard.

This time, his preparations were even more meticulous than the night before.
He first washed his hands with soap several times before taking the ginger and mugwort from his basket. He did not use an iron knife, fearing the metallic energy would damage the plants' spiritual nature, but instead found a bamboo knife used for cutting paper to slice the ginger thinly and chop the mugwort finely.
Then, he placed the two ingredients into an old stone mortar, grinding them slowly and steadily with a smooth stone pestle.
"Thud... Thud... Thud..."
The dull, rhythmic thuds echoed in the quiet courtyard. He ground very carefully and with immense patience, until the ginger juice and mugwort were completely fused, turning into a thick, dark green paste that exuded a pungent heat and a unique, cool fragrance.

Having done all this, he carried the stone mortar back to his room and tightly shut the windows.
Removing his shoes and socks, he sat cross-legged on the bed and began his breathing exercises, exhaling a long breath of turbid air to expel the noise and stray thoughts from his mind.
Once his mind was completely tranquil, he took a small dollop of the warm medicinal paste with his fingertips and carefully applied it to the Yongquan acupoints on the soles of his feet and the Mingmen acupoint on his lower back, following the diagrams in the manual.
The moment the paste touched his skin, a warm, pungent sensation seeped through his flesh.

Chen Ping'an closed his eyes, forming the Peace Seal with both hands on his knees, and began the unique breathing method once more.
One exhale... one inhale...
His breathing was long and subtle; without careful observation, one could barely see his chest rising and falling. His entire mind was immersed in sensing and observing the warm current at those acupoints.
At first, the sensation was very vague, not much different from applying an ordinary hot compress. But relying on his extraordinary focus and sensitivity developed over decades of appraising antiques, he managed to catch a faint, distinct thread of warmth amidst the chaotic heat.

This warmth was not the superficial heat of the medicinal paste, but a more refined, active life force.
"This is it!" Chen Ping'an's heart leapt. He quickly gathered his focus, carefully attempting to "wrap" his intent around that weak thread of life force, guiding it gently with his breath.
This action seemed simple, but it consumed immense mental energy, far beyond imagination.
That thread of life force was like a slippery loach; with the slightest distraction, it would vanish without a trace.

Within the span of a single incense stick, Chen Ping'an was drenched in sweat, his clothes soaked. This was not physical fatigue, but the extreme exhaustion of high mental concentration.
However, just as his mental energy was nearly depleted and he was about to give up, the thread of life force was guided successfully, leaving the acupoint and slowly—like a crawling snail—merging into a meridian below his Dantian.
The moment the warm current flowed through, Chen Ping'an's body shuddered.
He clearly felt that the stubborn, rock-like ache in his waist, which had plagued him for years, seemed to be washed by a warm spring, quietly loosening a fraction.

By the time he finished his breathing exercises and removed the paste, the night was already deep.
He stretched his waist. The pain that had dogged him for nearly ten years, though not eradicated, had changed from a constant dull ache to a faint, barely noticeable soreness. This change, though seemingly minor, was like rain after a long drought for him.
When he woke the next day, the sky was already bright.
Chen Ping'an opened his eyes, feeling that a dreamless night had left his mind exceptionally clear. It was as if a dusty mirror had been wiped clean; the world became bright and transparent. He could even clearly hear the faint sound of sparrows preening their feathers on the old scholar tree in the courtyard.

He knew this was no illusion.
He walked to the well in the courtyard, drawing up a bucket of cool well water. Looking at his old, wrinkled face reflected in the water, his features remained the same, but the dullness and resignation in his eyes had been replaced by a faint, steady light, deep as the stars.
He knew this path was real.
And this path leading to the unknown had only just begun.