Breathing and Circulation
"It's late—are we really leaving now?"
"Walking during the day's too hot lately."
Not even an hour after Tang Mujin sought out the Eccentric, the two of them had already left Chengdu.
On any other night, Tang Mujin would have worried about wild beasts and avoided traveling so late. But this was different. He was walking beside a martial master.
He didn't know exactly how powerful a top-class expert was, but he'd never once heard of the world's greatest master being eaten by a tiger, nor of a supreme expert being torn apart by wolves. Clearly, the Eccentric's confidence wasn't unfounded.
As soon as they left the city, people vanished from sight.
From all sides, grasshoppers and wood pigeons sang so loudly the air seemed to vibrate. Above, the night sky was full of stars, clouds drifting across and retreating to reveal the glittering expanse again and again.
Tang Mujin's gaze alternated between the heavens above and the path beneath his feet. And then his father came to mind.
When Mujin had asked if it was right to follow the Eccentric, his father had given an unexpectedly easy answer.
"Go, then."
"But won't you be shorthanded without me?"
"What's a pair of hands compared to this? You only get this chance to leave once in your life."
A physician, once rooted in a village, could never leave. There was never a time when every villager was healthy.
Every time one resolved to depart, the thought of an old man needing acupuncture across the river came to mind. And once that was taken care of, another patient in the next village needed a salve.
The faces of patients who would surely recover after one more batch of medicine would surface in memory. And once those were healed, new patients would appear, waiting for the physician's hand.
Thus the young man of twenty would turn forty, then fifty. By sixty, it was already too late to leave.
And in the end, one would simply pass the practice to their child, who would grow old in the same place.
That was the life of a physician. Mujin's father had lived it, as had his grandfather.
Mujin realized his father must have had many days where he'd wanted to leave.
Of course he had. What man didn't want to see the world, to behold the sights he'd only heard of in passing?
How much regret must he have carried in his chest, to nod so readily the moment his son asked to follow the Eccentric?
Tang Mujin's nose stung. He rubbed his eyes twice, then finally spoke.
"But, Elder, if I follow you… I won't be able to work as a blacksmith anymore, will I?"
"There's a forge wherever you go. And if it's me, renting one for a day's nothing. More importantly…"
"Yes?"
"That 'Elder' nonsense—I'd rather you dropped it. Every time you call me that, I feel like I've suddenly aged eighty years."
"Ah… I see."
But Mujin couldn't think of another proper title. He couldn't just use the man's name, and his nickname wasn't exactly dignified.
Then it hit him.
Ah. He wants me to call him 'Master.'
It was only natural. He pretended not to realize and asked, "Then… what should I call you? Ma—"
"Call me 'Brother.'"
A shameless demand, utterly unexpected. Mujin narrowed his eyes at him.
The Eccentric had turned his gaze away, so his expression was hidden.
"Brother? You mean I should call you brother? Truly?"
"…That's right."
"Well, I could oblige, but you're more than twice my age. What would people think if I went around calling you that?"
"Then what? Got a better title? You don't, do you?"
Mujin pondered. Indeed, nothing else seemed to fit. Elder? Too formal. Brother? Too absurd. Master? He didn't seem to want that either.
Then a word slipped into his mind.
"How about… 'Old man'?"
The Eccentric pressed his lips tight.
The two of them walked in silence.
The thrill of their night journey faded, leaving only the ache in Mujin's legs.
By the time the eastern sky began to pale, he finally spoke.
"We've been walking quite a while… shouldn't we rest?"
"Let's. We have something to do anyway."
"Something to do?"
"I promised I'd teach you martial arts, didn't I? Might as well start."
Mujin's heart pounded. Swordsmanship! Surely he'd be told to grab a branch and begin swinging.
But the Eccentric said something else.
"Sit cross-legged."
"Cross-legged?"
"Yes. The beginning of martial arts is in calming the breath and sensing the flow of qi."
Mujin sat as instructed, folding his legs awkwardly into position. His body wasn't flexible, but the Eccentric didn't point it out.
"Now what?"
"Breathe in slowly. As deep and as long as you can. Then exhale, thin and even."
Ssshh—haaa… Ssshh—haaa…
After a few repetitions, Mujin glanced back.
"And then?"
"And then what? Keep going. Don't stop until I say so."
It felt wrong somehow, but Mujin wasn't in a position to argue. He kept breathing as instructed.
The pale sky turned bright, and the sun crept over the horizon.
Nothing changed. He didn't feel stronger, lighter, or sharper.
Instead, stray thoughts crowded his head.
His only memories of martial arts were of the boys at the Chengdu branch of the Azure Sound Sect, brandishing practice swords and boasting about how grueling it was.
Never once had he heard them talk about breathing.
From dawn until nearly midday, Mujin kept at it.
At last he turned, unable to contain himself.
"Uh… old man."
"…What?"
The Eccentric's voice was thick with sleep. He'd dozed off on a rock. Clearly, the title old man still irritated him, but until Mujin found something better, that was what he would be.
"I don't mean to doubt you. But I grew up near the Azure Sound Sect's branch school. And from what I saw, the moment kids entered, they were swinging wooden swords. I never heard about breathing like this."
The Eccentric smirked.
"That's a practical matter."
"Hm?"
"Try making ten-year-olds sit and breathe for hours. They won't last half a meal before they run off. Do that a few days, and they'll never come back."
"True enough."
"And if the kids don't show up, do you think their parents will still pay the tuition?"
"Ah."
Circulating Qi
Tang Mujin immediately understood.
When treating children, you doubled the licorice root in the medicine, and if you could, you handed them a small piece of candy. Only then would they stop fearing the physician's hall.
When dealing with children, removing their resistance came first. Martial training, it seemed, was much the same.
"At first you just let them play with swords. A few months later, you pick out the ones who show promise and then teach them the true methods. The main halls of the great sects only accept disciples prepared to learn internal arts, so they start with cultivation techniques like I'm doing with you. But for smaller sects, little martial halls, and branch schools? They delay teaching the true methods."
"Then how much longer must I keep breathing like this?"
The Eccentric stretched and looked up at the sky.
"You should be getting the hang of it by now. Let's move on. Today's goal is to sense qi."
"I haven't felt anything at all…"
"Of course not. I'll guide the qi within you. Just focus your senses."
The Eccentric sat behind Tang Mujin and placed his hands against the boy's lower back. After a moment, Mujin felt a strange sensation near the Jingmen and Daimai points.
Cool, ticklish—faint but distinct.
"Feel that?"
"Uh… yes."
"That's qi. Your task today is to remember that sensation."
The Eccentric—like a Daoist adept guiding true breath—gently led Mujin's inner qi along its paths.
Mujin closed his eyes, focusing wholly on the inner feeling.
The route wasn't unfamiliar. He had read of it in medical texts, and countless times during acupuncture training, needles had been placed in those very spots.
"Jingmen, Daimai, Wuchu, Yudao, Juliao, Huantiao."
Mujin muttered softly. Behind him, the Eccentric chuckled in satisfaction.
"Having studied medicine suits you well. With others, I have to start by teaching which points even exist. Since we've come this far, why not broaden the range a bit?"
Mujin didn't answer, only concentrated harder.
The Eccentric expanded the flow he was guiding—downward to Fengshi, upward through Riyue, Jiexi, and even Lianque. Qi flowed gently between the points from armpit to hip.
"For a while, every time qi moves, it'll feel ticklish. That's just the杂氣—impure energy—being scraped away from your meridians. Nothing to do but endure it."
As the flow continued, Mujin sensed something odd.
The qi pulled by the Eccentric was clear and strong, but faintly, there was another stream—blurred, weaker, yet undeniably moving through his body. Its route too matched the acupuncture meridians he knew.
Where had this inner qi come from?
Mujin inhaled very slowly, very carefully.
A threadlike, hazy current entered through his nose. Passing through the Jingming point of the nasal passage, up to Tongtian at the head, then drifting down into the Geshu point near the lungs.
Like spring mist, so fragile it might scatter at any moment.
Yet precisely because it was so faint, Mujin's meager control could grasp it. Like an infant's tiny fingers holding a feather, he coaxed it onward.
He guided the weak current from Geshu to Riyue. And there—it met the stream the Eccentric had been guiding. The stronger qi wrapped around the faint one, enfolding it gently.
The Eccentric, wholly attuned to the flow, couldn't miss it. A low chuckle slipped from him, then burst into loud laughter.
"Hah! I really picked up a mad one. I told you just to feel the gallbladder meridian's flow—and you've already drawn in qi from breathing?"
Mujin gave no answer, no movement, only focused deeper.
The Eccentric lifted his hands from Mujin's back.
Mujin didn't even notice. He was wholly absorbed in circulating qi.
No—it could hardly be called "circulation." He had no small heavenly cycle, no true inner strength. Only a trickle of breath and a beginner's fumbling touch. He clutched at the qi, nudged it here and there, like a child tugging a thread.
Unlike the Eccentric, who could guide large streams with ease, Mujin could barely control the flow. But he never thought to give up.
At last, after a long struggle, he managed to move the tiny stream from Daimai to Wuchu. Not even half a span in distance.
Yet when he opened his eyes, his whole body was drenched in sweat.
The sun was already slanting toward the horizon. The sky, the clouds, the land and forest were ablaze with red. It had seemed he began before noon—but already it was evening.
The Eccentric sat with the setting sun at his back, watching him. With a crooked smile, he asked:
"Was it fun?"
Countless thoughts surged in Mujin's mind. So many questions, so many words.
But he gathered them all away, and answered simply:
"Yes."
And then, wearing a crooked grin just like the Eccentric's, he laughed.