The inner lecture hall smelled of ink and old wood, the kind of scent that made scholars straighten their spines and warriors accidentally slow their breath. Word of the elder envoy's presence had brushed through the courtyards like a wind carrying thunder: an inner demonstration, open to a handful of chosen outer disciples, and closed to most. Li Wei had been invited—not by honor so much as by curiosity; Master Han's nod had been the sort that meant "learn, and learn carefully."
Hua Lin sat beside him on the low bench, jade stones folded in her palm as if they were a rosary of technique. Mei Ling and Yun Shuang were there too, each person a different temperature in Li Wei's small orbit. The envoy sat on the dais, a hooded figure whose face remained a shadow even in the hall's amber light. Around them were a scattering of inner disciples—lean, attentive, and dangerous in the way quiet people are.
The envoy spoke with the clipped courtesy of someone used to trimming words down to sharpen meaning. "Today we will discuss an artifact of the old manuals," the envoy began. "Not the object, but the method—one line of cultivation once practiced in fringe circles and then condemned by most orthodox schools. It is no simple trick. It is a way of binding sexual resonance to the flow of marrow-Qi for massive, rapid blooms of energy."
The phrase landed in the hall like a dropped coin. A low rustle—study, shock, calculation—moved the audience. Li Wei felt the Obsidian Heart thump faintly against his ribs, as if it, too, recognized the name.
The envoy did not give the full method; he never did. He read a fragment from a yellowed scroll, words that spoke in riddles: the old technique linked "harmonic concordance" to the marrow-sinew lattice, requiring threefold consent, ritualized aftercare, and a chord of synchronized intent across more than two partners. It promised leaps: growth measured in months compressed into nights. It also promised cost—an erosion in those who used it without care, blurred lines between will and want, and a politics thick with appetite.
A slate of murmurs followed. An inner sister, a woman with the pallor of midnight ink, raised a hand. "Why present forbidden practice?" she asked. "If its costs are known, why tease us with method fragments?"
"Because," the envoy said, voice low, "knowledge changes the field. Those who know can defend. Those who do not are easy prey. We are not teaching the practice. We are cataloging it—its signatures, its wards, and what predators seek it."
Hua Lin's hand tightened on her jade stone. When she spoke, her voice carried a teacher's sharpened edge. "The method in those fragments is not merely dangerous technically; it is corrosive socially. It converts intimacy into a commodity and creates positions of predation under the guise of cultivation. Any use without institutional safeguards risks people—bodies, hearts, minds. We must keep preemptive protections."
Her words did not placate the room so much as cleave it into thought. Some inner disciples muttered about security and countermeasures; others' eyes gleamed with a scientist's hunger to test boundaries. Lan Yue's face, in the back, was unreadable. Master Han's jaw worked once, slowly. He did not speak, but his silence was heavy as a verdict.
Li Wei felt the system pulse—an almost amused, almost clinical note at the edge of his vision. The blue rectangle flashed a single line.
[NOTIFICATION]
Subject: Forbidden Technique — Fragment Catalogued.
Effect: Research Node Unlocked (Restricted).
Warning: Access limited; inner monitors will note attempts. High reward potential; ethical & social costs severe.
It was a neat, indifferent ledger entry. The world's rules had not changed; more precisely, the record had. Li Wei read it twice and felt a thing rise in him that looked like possibility and smelled like danger. The math the system loved was obvious: more partners, more synchronization, more gain. What the envoy and Hua Lin stressed was the second set of equations no ledger charted—how much of a person could be pledged before what made them a person thinned.
After the lecture, the envoy stepped down and walked among those assembled with a slow, surgical calm. He stopped near Li Wei and inclined his head, voice soft enough that only he could hear. "Curiosity is a good tool," he said. "But remember: relics and methods are magnifiers, not creators. You may find doors you cannot unmake."
Hua Lin intercepted him a moment later, her face set. "If any of my students even touch that technique without oversight, I will be the first to break fingers," she said, not a joke. Her warning was both practical and personal. "Teach them restraint, envoy. Teach them governance."
The envoy's hood tilted in something that might have been a smile. "We will catalog. We will protect. But we also watch—for those who test the locks."
Back in his small room that night, Li Wei sat with the scroll fragment the envoy had allowed him to copy—a few cryptic lines about harmonic concordance and marrow-sinew weaving. He traced the ink with a fingertip the way someone might read a map. The Obsidian Heart warmed against his palm. Temptation is a blunt instrument when it smells like possibility. He thought of Mei Ling's face, honest and careful; he thought of Yun Shuang's blunt warmth; he thought of Hua Lin's steady, scolding gaze; he thought of the triad that had worked, and the ledgered care that had followed.
He closed the scroll and set it aside. Power that arrived wrapped in other people's trust required a stewardship he hadn't yet earned. Hua Lin's warning circled in his head like a small bell: "It converts intimacy into a commodity."
The system noticed his restraint and, perhaps for that reason, offered a provocation and a caution both.
[NOTIFICATION — SYSTEM]
Sub-QuestUnlocked: Document & Defend — Investigate historical measures used to guard against the forbidden technique.
Reward: +200 Qi; increased envoy favor.
Risk: Attracts researcher attention (inner & outer).
Li Wei exhaled. The path forward was clear and narrow: learn enough to defend, not to weaponize; establish protocols; expand witness rosters; and perhaps most important, keep the circle's consent as a living thing, not a written clause. The Perverted Dao had given him tools and temptations; tonight he chose the harder problem—how to build institutions that would hold people safe even as he pushed for growth.
He placed the fragment back on the shelf, turned off the lamp, and let Hua Lin's words anchor him. Knowledge had weight, and he would carry it like somebody who had promised to mend.
End of chapter 19