Jake woke to the familiar hum of his Gu, a low pulse threading through the silence of his shack. Five weeks in the Cloudveil Sect had sharpened his instincts—formations weren't just scribbles anymore; they were a framework, a way to grip the world's unseen currents. The Scripture Pavilion loomed through the dawn mist as he approached, its pagoda roof slicing the haze like a blade. Inside, Elder Lin greeted him with her usual scowl, jabbing a bony finger at a cart piled with scrolls. "Sort them," she grunted. He nodded, hauling the load to his corner—a rhythm etched into his days: sort, sweep, assist. Today, though, the silence felt heavier, ripe for focus.
By midday, the pavilion emptied out, disciples scattering to drills or naps. Jake settled into his stack, pulling Spirit Well Circle from the pile. He'd cracked its qi-pooling runes weeks ago—simple spirals that tugged ambient qi into a dense core. It was the backbone of his experiments, amplifying anything layered atop it. He traced its lines on scavenged paper, ink flowing clean and deliberate. The air twitched, qi coiling tighter than before—a sign his control was deepening. Next, he paired it with Starlight Thread from Common Arrays, a basic glow utility. Qi flared, and a soft orb flickered to life in his mind—steady, no fade. He toggled it mentally: brighter, dimmer, off. Permanent light, no upkeep. A small victory.
He flipped through Auxiliary Formations, a thin scroll of practical tweaks. Jade Rest Array caught his eye—wood qi to ease muscles, a sleep aid for the sect's weary. He wove it into Spirit Well's spiral, sketching each rune with care. The qi hummed, and a faint warmth sank into his shoulders—tension melting. Sleep would hit harder tonight. Then Frost-Warm Balance: water qi to cool, fire qi to warm, earth runes to stabilize. Amplified by the Well, it could tame his shack's damp chill into something livable. He drew it out, testing every stroke. The air around his sketch steadied—proof of concept.
Formations weren't just tricks, though—they were a system, a logic he could bend. In his old world, he'd wired circuits, debugged code, built machines to obey. Here, qi was the current, runes the wiring. His sketch was a prototype, but he craved more—fluency in this strange language, a step toward his dream of a mental interface.
Days blurred into refinement. Mornings at the pavilion, he sorted scrolls and tinkered—Spirit Well thickened, its qi pool reliable as stone. Afternoons, he honed his sketches: Starlight Thread glowed steady, a mental bulb he could flick on or off; Jade Rest turned his mat into a sanctuary; Frost-Warm Balance softened the shack's edges—cool against heat, warm against rain. Evenings, he dug into Feng Shui Basics, a weathered tome from the stacks. It wasn't mystic nonsense—qi flowed like water, shaped by position. Wood qi rose east, fire flared south; balance smoothed it, misalignment choked it. The pavilion's jagged shelves snagged qi like burrs—he'd felt it for weeks. He adjusted them: eastern stacks ran north-south, heavy tomes low, light slips high—wood feeding earth. Southern shelves angled outward, fire qi venting free. The air cleared, disciples lingered longer, Elder Lin's scowl eased a notch. No one named it—they just breathed easier.
One afternoon, while clearing a cluttered back shelf, Jake's fingers brushed something odd—a slim, cracked scroll wedged behind a chipped inkstone. He pried it loose, dust puffing into the air. Advanced Feng Shui: Dragon Veins and Hidden Flows. His pulse jumped—this wasn't the beginner's guide; this was meaty. He unrolled it, scanning faded ink. Dragon veins weren't just mountain ridges—they threaded everything: rooms, huts, even a single shelf. The text called them micro-veins—tiny qi currents shaped by intent and placement. A stone in the right spot could turn a shack into a qi well; a misaligned chair could sour the flow. It broke down the elements deeper than Basics: wood qi thrived on growth, rising with the sun; fire qi pulsed with energy, craving open space; earth qi grounded, heavy and still; metal qi sharpened, cutting through clutter; water qi pooled, soft but relentless. Balance wasn't static—it danced.
The scroll went further, sketching techniques lost to time. One caught his eye: Five Phases Alignment—a layout to harmonize all elements in a small space. Place wood east to draw qi upward, fire south to stoke vitality, earth center to anchor, metal west to refine, water north to cycle it back. Another, Hidden Flow Weave, used objects as nodes—move a jar, tilt a shelf, and qi bent like light through a prism. Jake's shack was a disaster by these rules: Gu jars strewn random, mat crooked, drafts slashing through. He'd fix it.
That evening, he hauled his mat to the eastern wall—wood qi for growth—angled it north-south, syncing with the earth's spine. The Gu jars went south, fire qi fueling their churn. His flute and vial landed west on a low shelf—metal qi for order. A cracked bowl he'd scavenged sat north—water qi to close the loop. He stepped back, testing the air. The shack's damp bite softened, qi pooling gentle instead of snagging. He sat cross-legged, sketch in hand, and felt it—sleep tugging already, Jade Rest barely needed. The Gu hummed livelier too, their faint glow sharper. Micro-veins at work.
Back at the pavilion, he pushed further. The shelves weren't enough—he eyed a heavy desk, its corner jutting west. Metal qi, misplaced. He nudged it east a hair, aligning it with the room's wood vein—growth feeding flow. A cracked vase on a high shelf screamed water qi, stranded amid fire-aligned tomes. He shifted it south, balancing the heat. Next day, disciples browsed smoother, voices quieter, even Topknot's perpetual sneer dulled. Elder Lin paused by his corner, squinting at the desk. "Less clutter," she muttered, almost a compliment. Jake shrugged. "Just tidying."
His formations sharpened too. Spirit Well fused tighter into his sketch, qi pooling thick enough to stack layers. Starlight Thread glowed steady, a mental toggle for late nights. Jade Rest sank deep, sleep a clean reset. Frost-Warm Balance held the shack against weather's swings. But the pavilion threw him a curve. One morning, a qi lamp in the main hall flickered wild—its formation cracked, energy bleeding out. He crouched, spotting misaligned runes: fire qi clashing with earth. With a borrowed brush, he redrew the pattern, sealing the leak. The lamp steadied, glow even. Elder Lin glanced over, brow lifting, but stayed silent. Jake nodded to himself—practical wins mattered.
A disciple broke his flow one afternoon—a wiry kid with a patchy beard, lugging a splintered spear haft. "Got Iron Wind Spear?" he rasped, leaning the haft against Jake's cart. Jake fetched the scroll, catching the kid's squint. "You move stuff weird," the boy said, nodding at the shelves. "Feels… less heavy in here."
"Better flow," Jake said, keeping it light. "Clears the head. Might help your spearwork."
The kid scratched his chin, haft clattering. "Huh. Like qi drills? Not wrong—brain's quieter today." He grabbed the scroll and shuffled off, haft thumping. Jake smirked—let the shift speak.
Late week, the market hummed. He bartered for a rough whetstone—ten silvers gone, one hundred eighty left. That night, Jade Rest melted into his mat, qi unwinding his frame, sleep pulling fast. By week six, his sketch pulsed stronger—Spirit Well a rock-solid core, amplifying all. Starlight Thread shone toggleable; Jade Rest erased strain; Frost-Warm Balance tamed the hut. Rain drummed the roof as he leaned back, sketch in hand. The Gu churned, but formations were his lever now—qi bending to his will, silence settling his mind. He dimmed the orb and let sleep claim him.
Formations weren't just tools—they were a lens. Qi flowed like data, runes like code. The scroll's lore clicked: Five Phases Alignment mirrored system design—inputs balanced, outputs optimized. His shack hummed with it, the pavilion echoed it. Each tweak brought him closer to his goal: a mental interface, qi wired to thought. Tomorrow, he'd refine again—test, align, push. For now, the rain sang, and he rested.