Infinite Sharing System: Cultivating With My Sister In The Apocalypse Chapter 146: Serene Blossom Valley [ 8 ]

The next morning, Dian didn’t ring a bell.

Xuan woke up on his own, which was suspicious enough that he lay there for a mont waiting for sothing to happen. Nothing did. The room was quiet, or as quiet as it got, which ant the usual ambient hum of the sect going about its early business was present but nothing else. No bell. No Dian standing over him with the specific expression of a man who had decided that sleep was a personal failing.

He got up, got dressed, and went to find out what was wrong.

Dian was in the main room, sitting at the table with tea, looking perfectly normal, which sohow made it worse.

"No bell," Xuan said.

"Observant," Dian replied.

"Is that bad."

"Sit down."

Xuan sat down. There was a second cup on the table already, which ant Dian had heard him waking up, which ant the awareness thing worked both ways at this level and Xuan was going to need to think about that later.

"The bell portion of your training is done," Dian said. "Your foundation is stable enough that continuing it would produce diminishing returns. What you need now is different."

Xuan wrapped his hands around the cup. "Different how."

"The bells were external. What cos next is internal." Dian drank his tea with the unhurried patience of soone who had decided the explanation would arrive when it arrived and not before. "You have learned to receive sound, to redirect it, to project it outward with so degree of intent. These are the outer chanics. Useful. Necessary. But they are not the substance of Sound Qi."

"What’s the substance."

"Resonance." He set his cup down. "Everything has a natural frequency. Stone, wood, water, bone. A frequency at which it vibrates most easily, most completely. When you match that frequency exactly and project it, you do not push against the thing. You agree with it. And when sothing agrees with a frequency it cannot resist, the result is not force. It is collapse."

Xuan thought about that for a second. "So instead of hitting sothing, you just find the note it can’t ignore."

Dian looked at him for a mont. "That’s a reasonable way to put it, yes."

"And that’s what actually makes Sound Qi dangerous. Not the volu."

"Correct. Any idiot can be loud. Frequency is precision. Frequency at the right resonance is inevitably destructive, even against sothing far stronger than the person projecting it, because it is not a contest of strength. It is simply the correct answer to a specific question." He picked his cup back up. "A wall does not care how hard you hit it. But find the frequency at which its mortar wants to fail and a whisper will bring it down."

Xuan sat with that for a long mont.

Okay. That was genuinely terrifying. He wasn’t going to say that out loud but it was. The idea that strength was more or less irrelevant if you just knew the right note, that you could take sothing apart not by overpowering it but by simply being correct about it, was the kind of thing that reordered how you thought about most other things.

"So how do I learn it," Xuan said.

"Slowly," Dian said. "And carefully. Resonance training done incorrectly does not produce bruised ribs. It produces other problems."

"What kind of other problems."

Dian’s expression didn’t change exactly, but sothing in it shifted in a way that Xuan had learned to pay attention to. "The kind that are difficult to explain before you understand enough for the explanation to an anything. So for now, you trust that careful is the correct pace, and we proceed carefully."

That was not reassuring in the slightest.

"Great," Xuan said.

They started that sa morning. The first exercise was, on the surface, extrely boring. Dian placed a small smooth stone on the table between them and told Xuan to listen to it.

Xuan looked at the stone. Then at Dian. Then back at the stone. "Listen to it."

"Extend your awareness to it specifically. Not the room, not the table. The stone. Hold it there until you feel sothing."

"Feel what."

"You’ll know."

He really hated when Dian said that.

But he did it. He pulled his awareness in tight, narrowed it down to the specific small shape of the stone sitting on the table, and held it there, and waited for sothing to happen. For the first few minutes nothing did. The stone was a stone. It sat there with complete indifference to being listened to. Xuan kept his awareness on it anyway, the way you keep your eyes on sothing even when it isn’t moving, just patient and present.

Then, very faintly, he felt it.

Not sound exactly. More like a tendency. A particular quality to the way the stone existed, sothing very low and very slow, the kind of vibration that had probably been sitting in it since before the stone was a stone and would continue sitting in it long after. It wasn’t doing anything. It was just there, the way a held note hangs in a room after the instrunt has stopped.

He didn’t say anything for a mont, just held onto the feeling carefully, not trying to do anything with it yet, just learning the shape of it.

"I feel sothing," he said, eventually.

"Describe it."

"Slow. Like it’s not in any hurry. Dense, kind of. Like the sound itself is heavy."

Dian nodded once. "That is the stone’s frequency. Or the edge of it. What you are feeling is not the full resonance, just the outermost layer. But that is where you start." He leaned back slightly. "Every day you sit with it. You go deeper each ti. You do not project at it, you do not try to do anything with what you feel. You only listen. Do you understand?"

"Just listen."

"Until I tell you otherwise. This part takes as long as it takes and rushing it produces the problems I ntioned."

Xuan looked at the stone. "How long does it usually take."

"Depends on the person."

"Ballpark."

Dian looked at him. "Weeks, sotis. Occasionally longer."

Xuan picked up his tea and drank it and didn’t say anything, because there was nothing useful to say. Weeks of sitting and listening to a rock. That was his life now. He had made certain choices that had led him here and he was going to have to live with them.

He spent an hour with the stone that first morning, which was about as long as he could hold the focused narrow awareness before it started fraying at the edges and snagging on other things. Dian called it after the hour without comnt and they moved on to projection work in the afternoon, which by comparison felt almost comfortable now. Familiar territory. Xuan could push a focused frequency twenty feet with reasonable consistency, and on good days the crack in the plaster extended a little further, and Dian said things like closer and again with the enthusiasm of a man reading a legal docunt.

But the stone thing stuck with him.

He found himself thinking about it during the in-between parts of the day. Not obsessively, just in the way you think about sothing that has lodged itself sowhere in the back of your mind and doesn’t leave. The quality of what he’d felt, that slow dense tendency, the sense of sothing very old and very settled just sitting in a piece of rock and not asking anything of anyone.

That evening he sat outside in the usual spot and, without really deciding to, extended his awareness to the ground beneath him. Stone there too, deep down, under the dirt and the foot-worn paths of the sect. It felt different to the small stone on the table. Older, maybe. Less defined, like trying to hear a single voice in a crowd too large to pick apart.

He didn’t push it. Just noted it and pulled back.

The night carried its usual sounds. Soone laughing sowhere. A door closing. The particular creak of the large pine at the edge of the courtyard when the wind moved through it, which Xuan had by now catalogued without aning to as a consistent presence in his evening awareness, familiar enough to ignore.

He was about to pull in and call it a night when sothing happened.

Not dramatic. Nothing loud or sudden. Just, at the edge of his awareness, sothing that didn’t fit the usual texture of the sect in the evening.

A quality he didn’t recognize.

He held very still and kept his awareness on it, careful not to push toward it in a way that might have a searching quality, trying to do what Dian had said about looking without looking. It was distant, and indistinct, and might have been nothing at all, so combination of ambient noise that his still-developing awareness was misreading as sothing it wasn’t.

But it didn’t feel like nothing.

It felt like soone, sowhere just past the edges of where he could reliably reach, doing sothing very quiet and very deliberate.

He sat with it for another minute. Then it was gone, or his awareness slipped off it, and the night went back to being just the night.

He went inside and didn’t ntion it to Dian.

He wasn’t sure why. It just felt like the kind of thing you sat on for a little while before saying out loud, in case it turned out to be nothing and you’d wasted the air.

But he thought about it for a long ti before he fell asleep.