At the beginning of the second week, Yinuo discovered a new phenomenon during his morning meditation.
When he closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, the sounds around him became exceptionally clear. The sound of the stove fire at the breakfast stall downstairs, the metallic friction of the neighbor's door opening, the engine roar of a bus starting in the distance, even the subtle sound of sparrow wings flapping as they hopped on tree branches outside the window. These sounds had always existed, but they had been automatically categorized by consciousness as background noise. Now they emerged one after another, like a three-dimensional sound map slowly unfolding in his mind.
Yinuo didn't deliberately try to capture these sounds—they just naturally entered his perceptual range. When he became aware of this change, that clear sensation immediately disappeared, and the sounds turned back into vague background. He tried to find that state again, but discovered that the more deliberate he was, the less he could grasp it.
It wasn't until he gave up trying and returned to simple focus on breathing that the three-dimensional sound perception emerged once more.
This discovery reminded Yinuo of a passage in the booklet: "When consciousness dominates, perception is limited. When the subconscious takes over, perception expands." When he first read this sentence, he found it very mystical, but now he seemed to be beginning to understand its meaning. Consciousness was like a narrow spotlight that could only illuminate a specific area. The subconscious was like scattered light—although no single area was bright enough, the coverage was much wider.
This week's meditation training became more stable. Yinuo could maintain focus for extended periods, from fifteen minutes to twenty minutes, occasionally even reaching twenty-five minutes. The soreness in his lower back had basically disappeared, and the cross-legged posture had also become natural. More importantly, he was beginning to enjoy this hour of quiet. During this time, school pressure, Chen Hao's bullying, his parents' hardship—all these things temporarily retreated into the distance.
Wednesday evening, Yinuo came to the small park behind school again. This time he chose a longer path, about fifty meters or so. He blindfolded himself with the scarf, took a deep breath, and began moving forward slowly.
First step, second step, third step. His attention was concentrated on the tactile sensation underfoot and the sounds around him. The rustling of fallen leaves, the whistling of wind blowing through the canopy, the echo of dogs barking in the distance. This information converged together, forming a rough spatial outline in his mind.
After about twenty steps, he stopped. Footsteps came from ahead—two people, with light and quick steps, probably a couple taking a walk. Yinuo waited for them to pass, then continued forward. This time he walked more smoothly. Although the speed was still slow, he no longer frequently collided with obstacles like the first time.
Suddenly, he heard a slight sound of airflow from behind him.
This sound was very subtle, like the sound of air being pushed aside when someone quickly swung their arm. Yinuo's body reacted before thinking—he shifted half a step to the left. Almost simultaneously, a hard object swept past his right ear, bringing up a gust of wind.
Yinuo removed the scarf and turned around to see three students wearing the same school uniform. Chen Hao stood at the front, holding a tree branch in his hand. His two friends stood on either side, excited smiles on their faces.
"Pretty quick reflexes." Chen Hao twirled the branch in his hand. "I thought I could hit your head."
Yinuo didn't speak. He stuffed the scarf into his pocket and looked at the three people in front of him.
"What are you practicing?" Chen Hao tilted his head and asked. "Walking blindfolded? What kind of stupid game is this?"
The two beside him laughed, and one of them imitated Yinuo's groping movements from earlier, exaggeratedly extending both hands and fumbling around in the air.
Yinuo turned to leave, and Chen Hao reached out to grab his shoulder.
"Don't be in such a hurry to leave." Chen Hao's voice dropped. "I'm curious what exactly you're up to. Getting up at five every morning, and now running here to blindfold yourself. You don't really think practicing something will change your situation, do you?"
Yinuo shook off Chen Hao's hand and took a step back. His heartbeat accelerated, but his expression remained calm.
"I'm telling you, it's useless." Chen Hao took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "No matter what you practice, you're still that weak Jin Yinuo. This is essence, understand? Essence cannot be changed."
Yinuo looked into Chen Hao's eyes. In those eyes was something he was very familiar with—a confidence that came from long-term advantage, a pleasure built on the pain of others.
"You're afraid." Yinuo suddenly said.
Chen Hao's expression froze for a moment.
"You're afraid I'll actually accomplish something." Yinuo continued, his voice still calm. "That's why you're following me, wanting to know what I'm doing."
The smile on Chen Hao's face disappeared, replaced by a cold expression. He stepped forward, his right hand forming a fist.
"What did you say?"
Yinuo didn't retreat, nor did he repeat what he had just said. He only stood in place, watching Chen Hao's fist gradually approach.
Time seemed to slow down. Yinuo could see the twist of Chen Hao's shoulder, see the trajectory of the fist, see the subtle vortex formed by the air around the fist. His brain was calculating rapidly—if this punch hit, it would strike his left cheek, and the force would probably cause bruising and slight periosteal shock.
But his body didn't move.
The fist stopped five centimeters from his cheek.
Chen Hao maintained this posture, his fist trembling slightly in the air. He stared into Yinuo's eyes, trying to see fear or submission in them, but saw nothing. Yinuo only looked back at him calmly, as if looking at a stranger.
This calmness made Chen Hao feel uneasy. The Jin Yinuo of the past would dodge, would lower his head, would show weakness in various ways. But the person now standing before him had something in his gaze that he couldn't understand.
Chen Hao lowered his fist and took a step back.
"Boring." He said, turning to wave at his two friends. "Let's go."
The three of them left, their footsteps gradually disappearing at the end of the path. Yinuo stood in place, watching the direction they departed. His hands were trembling, not from fear, but because adrenaline was still flowing through his blood.
Just now, in that instant when Chen Hao's fist came at him, he had indeed seen the entire process clearly. Not analyzing it with consciousness, but through some more direct perception. He could judge the speed of the fist, the angle, the position it would ultimately reach. But his body didn't react, because the training was still far from sufficient.
The goal of the first stage was: subconscious recognition of killing intent, autonomous bodily evasion.
Now he had only completed the first half—he could recognize the threat, but his body wouldn't automatically evade. This required more time, more training.
Yinuo left the small park and walked on the road home. Street lamps stretched his shadow very long, the shadow twisting and deforming on the ground with his steps. He recalled Chen Hao's final expression, that unease and retreat. Perhaps Chen Hao had been half right—essence was indeed difficult to change. But change itself was a slow and continuous process, like water dripping through stone, like tree roots breaking through rock.
When he returned home, his parents had already finished dinner. His mother saw him enter and asked, "Why so late?"
"Doing homework at school." Yinuo answered.
His mother nodded and didn't continue asking. She sat on the sofa with her feet soaking in a basin of hot water, the television playing a news program. His father was sleeping in the bedroom, slight snoring sounds coming through the door crack.
Yinuo walked into his own room and closed the door. He put down his backpack, took out the booklet from under the bed, and turned to the explanation page for the first stage. His finger moved slowly across the paper, stopping on a line of text: "The interval between recognition and reaction may initially be as long as several seconds. As training deepens, this interval will shorten infinitely until it completely disappears."
He closed the booklet and looked at the window of Chen Hao's home in the building across the way. The dark blue curtains were still drawn, with weak light showing through from the room.
Yinuo turned off the light in his own room and sat cross-legged on the bed in the darkness. He closed his eyes and began focusing on his breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. The sounds around him emerged once more—the sound of the television in the living room, the sound of cars passing downstairs, the roar of machinery at the distant construction site.
His consciousness gradually descended, thoughts dispersing like fog.