The bell trembled faintly, and Chen Wuya's fingers paused on the bluestone. He did not look up. He merely pressed his palm down more tightly, letting Misaligned Force seep into the earth like a thin stream and slowly spread along the network of qi he had laid down the night before. That tremor was neither wind nor a bird landing on a branch, but deliberately softened footsteps testing the firmness of the ground a hundred paces away.
Without giving anything away, he flexed his fingertips and drew the pulling force scattered at the four corners into a ring, quietly sealing it shut. The aura of the entire little courtyard seemed wrapped in an invisible membrane. Those outside could see the eaves, the clothesline, and the cradle, yet they could no longer sense the slightest trace of living breath.
When Bai Zhi came out of the house carrying the child, sunlight had fallen squarely across the threshold. She gently placed the infant in the cradle and casually tugged the thin blanket over his belly. The child lay with his eyes open, grasping at empty air several times before suddenly smiling.
"What are you teaching him again?" she asked, watching Chen Wuya squat beside the cradle and lightly tap the child's palm with a whittled bamboo sliver.
"Nothing," he said softly. "Just letting him try learning how to hold something firmly."
The bamboo sliver slipped into the child's hand. He could not hold it and dropped it again. Chen Wuya was in no hurry; he placed it back in his hand once more. The third time, the child curled all five fingers—and truly managed to grip it.
"See?" he said. "Other people grab by exerting force. He loosens first, then draws it back in. That path of force is better than anyone's."