Clouds and rosy mists intertwined between the young girl's fingers, shifting in countless ways. Their possibilities seemed endless, encompassing every profound principle of transformation. And these changes were not fixed patterns; they unfolded naturally, at will. Even the one performing the art could not exhaust its mysteries.
To study only a hundred or so fixed patterns was to learn a dead method.
Master its central principle, and it could change a thousand ways, endlessly!
Qi WuHuo's eyes widened. The failures, trials, and thoughts of these past "few days" were awakened in an instant, then underwent a qualitative change. In that moment, he had finally found the possibility of combining body, qi, spirit, arts, methods, and all manner of martial skills into one.
[Change].
Only [Change] never changes.
There should be no fixed pattern. It should revolve around [me], existing naturally and without attachment, a system that responded of its own accord, like the world itself. That was how change should be: like clouds drifting and shifting, like flowing water, like the wind passing freely, bound to no form.
The young girl lifted her head slightly and solemnly repeated what the man in black had said. "The so-called sleight of hand has no fixed pattern. One branch will do, two branches will do, three or four are fine. But if you think this 'trick' really has to use a certain number of 'branches,' with the same count, starting move, techniques, and changes every time, then you're a world-class idiot."
"You haven't learned the 'trick' at all."
"You're just a wooden puppet parroting a book."
The young girl looked triumphant. "Wu Huo, it took me several days to figure that out."
Yun Qin held up a finger and wagged it. "On the surface, it's a trick with clouds and rosy mists."
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