The room was so quiet that the only sound was the soft pop of the lamp wick.
Chen Ping's wrist hovered in midair. The tip of his wolf-hair brush was barely a hair's breadth from the pale yellow talisman paper. A bead of cold sweat slid down his temple and shattered on the dusty floor.
This was the last sheet of talisman paper.
The power of the Everlasting Spring Technique flowed through his body like a trickling stream, coursing along the Meridians in his arm and into the brush. The wolf-hair bristles grew full and firm, glowing with a faint green light.
He lowered the brush.
This time, Chen Ping felt none of the dreadful, stifling resistance from before.
The instant the brush touched paper, he seemed to become a bystander, watching his own hand twist and turn across that tiny space, guided by some wondrous rhythm.
The opening stroke swept like the wind; the brush flowed like clouds.
The Spiritual Power that had once been untamable seemed like a wild horse brought to heel, obediently confined within the lines drawn in cinnabar.
The final stroke. The finish. A turn of the brush.
Chen Ping held his breath, his pupils contracting.
By all precedent, the talisman paper should have smoked, caught fire, and turned to ash.
And yet—
The dark red lines on the paper suddenly lit up. A faint Spiritual Light rippled around them like water, then drew inward and settled into stillness.
There was no flame, no smell of scorching.
It lay quietly on the table, giving off the faint, pleasant scent of Spirit Ink.
"Phew..."
A breath of stale air squeezed from Chen Ping's chest. He was like a man just hauled from the water, his back already drenched in cold sweat.
Had he done it?
Chen