Morning light had just crept over the eaves. Chen Wuya's hand still rested on the whetstone, his knuckles slightly tense. The force from last night had never fully dissipated, like a fine thread wound through his meridians, twitching now and then. He had meant to straighten it out before dawn, but the child in the cradle suddenly began to cry. The sound was not loud, yet it struck right at the critical point of his breath regulation.
The Misaligned Force stalled, and his chest tightened.
He set down the whetstone and rose to walk over. Bai Zhi had already lifted the bed curtain and was about to pick up the child, but he held out a hand to stop her. He crouched down first, gently placing his palm against the edge of the cradle. An exceedingly light force seeped along the grain of the wood, circled the four corners, then drew back—this was the "Sleep Cage Force" he had set up last night. It was still running and had not been touched.
Seeing him, the child scrunched up his little face, and his crying weakened by several degrees.
Chen Wuya said nothing. He merely extended a finger and traced a crooked arc through the air, humming a tuneless melody under his breath. It was an old folk lullaby Old Wu Tou had used to soothe children in the refugee camp. The lyrics had long been forgotten; only the rhythm remained. As he hummed, he gently patted the cradle, his palm falling in time with the beat. The taut force within him slowly loosened, beginning to flow back inch by inch along that rhythm.
Bai Zhi stood beside him without moving, watching him lower his head as a few messy strands of hair fell over his forehead, hiding his eyes. She