Introduction to Breathing Technique

After leaving Mr. Hutton, Richard walked along the corridor toward the school gate.

Evelyn waved at him from the queue at the school bus stop, her braids whipping in the wind.

He shouted toward his sister, "I'll be back late today, go ahead and take the bus."

"Going to the library again?"

"Yes."

"Are you planning on moving into the library soon?"

"Almost there."

The girl glared at him before being swept onto the school bus by the crowd.

Before the doors closed, she poked half her head out of the window: "Be back before dark!"

Richard waved at her and turned to walk toward the library.

There were still a few scattered students studying on the first and second floors, and the librarian was at the counter recording book loans.

When he reached the third floor, it was completely empty.

Just like before, the fluorescent light hummed, and the broken tube flickered twice before going out.

He walked to the section of shelves between Geography and Agriculture, crouched down, and began to take inventory.

There were twenty-six books in total, varying in size and thickness.

Some were well-bound, some had cracked spines, and some had covers so worn the titles were gone.

The publication dates ranged from 1790 to 1860 of the New Calendar, a span of nearly seventy years.

Richard first performed a quick screening.

He took each book out and flipped to the table of contents or the final pages to check for appendices, non-textual content, or paragraphs with abnormal density.

After excluding the obvious, legitimate academic literature—those with formal citation formats, clear footnotes, and no suspicious markings throughout the text—eleven books remained.

Of those eleven, three made him feel that something was wrong the moment he opened them.

In the first, the footnote numbering skipped a beat; empty numbers don't appear out of thin air, so it was either a typesetting error or a deliberate blank space.

In ordinary academic publications, it would be the former, but on this shelf, it had to be treated as the latter.

The second was even more obvious; the first letters of the paragraphs in one chapter combined to form a short sentence.

An acrostic, the oldest and simplest method of encryption.

The third had two pages of handwritten supplements tucked into the appendix, the handwriting completely different from the printed text, and the ink color was different as well.

Richard pulled these three books from the shelf, stacked them on the floor, and began to examine them one by one.

From the book On the Organizational Forms of Early Agricultural Communities in the Western Continent he got from Mr. Hutton until now, he had developed a complete decryption process.

First, confirm the encryption level, then peel it back layer by layer using reference tables and etymological manuals, and finally, cross-verify.

The first book took about forty minutes; it was clear that it was generally about the use of mineral media in rituals.

It was useful, but not a top priority, so he stopped decrypting once he understood what it was about.

Once the acrostic in the second book was solved, it pointed to a specific paragraph on a certain page of the text.

The passage appeared to be discussing hunting rituals in the northern forest regions, but in reality, every fifth word, when strung together, described the Blood-Burning Path.

It had reference value, but it wasn't suitable for him.

The Blood-Burning Path was too radical; the introductory training methods described in the text included extreme alternations between ice-water breath-holding and explosive breathing, which his Physique couldn't handle.

For the third book, he carefully turned to the two inserted pages and brought the desk lamp closer to look.

The handwriting was neat but tiny, written with a dip pen; the ink had already turned brown, likely at least several decades old.

The content was only two pages, but the density was extremely high.

The first line read: "Aurea Via - Fundamenta Respirationis Primae.

(Golden Path - Foundations of Primary Respiration.)"

Richard's fingers trembled slightly.

He looked up at the window; it was already pitch black outside.

The light on the third floor was still humming, casting his shadow in a long, thin line across the bookshelves.

He lowered his head and continued reading.

The text described the most basic introductory breathing technique of the Golden Path; it had no name, and the entire passage simply referred to it as the "Introductory Breathing Technique."

The steps contained no mysterious or esoteric descriptions, nor anything like "opening the Ren and Du meridians."

The entire passage read more like a medical operating manual:

Adjust the breathing frequency, control the ratio of inhalation to exhalation, and keep your attention focused on the center of your chest at a specific rhythm.

The final paragraph was a warning:

"The introductory Breathing Technique should not be practiced for more than three quarters of an hour (about forty-five minutes) daily; for beginners, it is recommended to keep it under fifteen minutes during the first week.

Excessive practice will lead to headaches, dizziness, and chest tightness. If you experience ringing in the ears or spots of light at the edges of your vision, you should stop immediately and lie flat to rest; otherwise, it will lead to mild shock."

Pragmatic, safe, and with clear boundaries—it truly lives up to its origins as a medically-derived cultivation method.

No matter how hard one pushes, the worst outcome is mild shock, which is incomparable to the Blood-Burning Path that could actually cause one to suffocate or freeze to death. It is no wonder this is the primary choice for most formal organizations.

Richard read the two pages of handwritten notes from start to finish three times. After confirming he had memorized every word, he closed the book and returned it to its original place.

He did not take the book with him; after all, there wasn't much content that needed recording this time.

Taking one book could be called borrowing, but taking several would be eye-catching.

Leaving these books on the shelves meant he could come back to check them repeatedly in the future.

Richard stood up and stretched, his joints popping in a series of cracks.

He raised his wrist to check the time... damn, it was already past seven.

The last school bus had left at six-thirty. He hadn't noticed the library's closing announcement at all; presumably, no one had come to clear the third floor.

Outside the window, the night was thick, and the streetlights flickered sparsely.

It was over three miles from the school to his home, a walk of more than half an hour.

Walking during the day was just exercise, but it was a different story once it got dark.

Public safety in the old district of Briston was not exactly good at night, and there were plenty of petty thieves and troublemakers.

In his past life, he could walk the streets at night without a care, as his home country had complete public infrastructure and surveillance cameras everywhere. In this life, he didn't have that kind of confidence.

He grabbed his school bag and headed downstairs. When he pushed open the side door of the library, a cold wind rushed to meet him.

The campus was completely empty, with only the light in the guard's booth still shining.

Richard hunched his shoulders and walked toward the school gate.

The old guard poked half his head out of the window, muttered something, and then retreated back inside.

A Stone Griffin crouched atop the gate pillar, the bird droppings on its wings gleaming white in the moonlight.

As soon as he stepped out of the school gate, he saw an old-fashioned car parked under a streetlight.

Spoke wheels, whitewall tires, and a gooseneck lamp embedded on each side of the windshield—this was a configuration only found on top-tier luxury cars.

The entire vehicle sat quietly under the streetlight, looking completely out of place against the dusty street scene, like a pampered hunting dog tied to the entrance of a vegetable market.

The car window was quickly rolled down, revealing a somewhat familiar, pretty face.

It was Gray.

She didn't have her hair braided today; her chestnut hair fell over her shoulders, mostly gathered by the collar of her scarf.

The girl's blue eyes looked even brighter in the night than during the day, and her lips were a soft pink, as if she were wearing lip balm.

"Williams," she greeted him.

"Gray?" Richard stopped under the streetlight. "Why are you still at school?"

"I stayed behind to catch up on some schoolwork today. When I came out, I saw the lights were still on on the third floor of the library."

She closed her book and pushed the car door open to step out.

"Not many students stay at Greenwood at night, so I guessed it might be you."

She spoke very naturally, as if they had just happened to run into each other.

But Richard noticed that the dew on the car's hood had already condensed into water droplets; the car had been parked there for at least half an hour.