Yin Wujou unfolded the mugwort paper and laid it next to the iron plate, then took out the time and direction chart handwritten by Pei Yuan and placed it on the other side. The ink on the paper had developed fine cracks in some places due to the folding along the way, but the words were still legible. He recited the correspondence chart of the twelve two-hour periods from beginning to end, confirming that the direction and Spiritual Power frequency corresponding to each node were clearly engraved in his mind, and then he closed his eyes and took three deep breaths.
When he opened his eyes again, his Spirit Vision had fully expanded. It was a level deeper than it had been in the warehouse—perhaps because entering the city meant the dense concentration of spiritual energy in the underground veins was nourishing the development of his Spirit Vision, or perhaps because he had finally sat down in front of a metal plate that he could actually use, and his mind naturally sank to the very bottom. He could see that the network of meridians beneath the plate on the back of his hand was now a clear network of light down to the very tip, with each of the finest branches pulsating with a faint flow of light, the overall flow being more stable than before, and the connections between the meridians being smoother.
He picked up a piece of iron skewer he'd pilfered from Old Zhou's blacksmith shop—dipped in water, its tip sharply sharp—and marked the first anchor point on the upper left corner of the iron plate. The moment the skewer's tip touched the surface, Yin Wujou trembled slightly, as if he'd been gently electrocuted. It wasn't fear or tension, but more like the perfect fit and recognition of two puzzle pieces that had been pieced together for so long finally meeting.
He dipped the tip of the iron skewer in lamp oil to moisten it, and began to write.
The first line started from the upper left corner node and went inwards. His hand was so steady that it seemed the table itself wouldn't allow him to sway. The tip of the iron skewer made a very faint hissing sound as it moved across the iron surface, like a silkworm nibbling on a mulberry leaf. Yin Wujou didn't deliberately control the force or direction; his attention was entirely focused on the patterns in the light image fed back by his Spirit Vision —the fine forging textures on the iron plate surface became something else entirely in his Spirit Vision. They were like the remaining waterways on a dried-up riverbed, providing a natural guide for his pen tip. He only needed to follow those textures, and the lines would appear on their own.
The first star-shaped node took shape in the upper left corner of the iron plate. When Yin Wujou finished writing, he felt the warm spiritual energy in the meridians of his right hand tremble slightly, like the lingering vibration of a plucked string. He paused for two breaths to let the vibration subside, and then moved on to the next point.
The sunlight outside the window had completely turned into twilight. The orange-gold afterglow slanted in through the window, illuminating the still-wet brushstrokes on the iron plate and casting faint, bright lines. Yin Wujou's brush didn't stop for long; every so often, he would lift his hand to catch his breath before continuing. One by one, the twelve nodes took shape on the iron plate, the arcs of the loops extending, turning, and converging in segments. The outline of the entire array slowly emerged under his hand, like a sunken ship being salvaged inch by inch from deep water, each plank of the hull seeing the light again as it floated to the surface.
By the time he reached the eleventh node, it was completely dark. Only the light from the oil lamp on the corner of the table remained in the room, its orange flame burning steadily, casting Yin Wujou's silhouette against the white wall behind him. The shadow was motionless, with only his right hand, holding the pen, slowly and continuously drawing arcs, like a person diving in deep water whose only visible feature is the ripples spreading outwards from the surface. He paused, rubbed his aching wrist, and led the final line from the eleventh node to the center blank space.
The tip of the iron pen stopped at the center point. Yin Wujou felt an aura suddenly return to his Spirit Vision the instant the entire array was completed—a gentle yet profound wave, like a large drum being gently struck, the sound waves spreading from the drumhead and pushing through his meridians. In that instant, his Spirit Vision automatically reached an unprecedented depth. He saw that the terminal branches on the back of his hand, which Pei Yuan had previously pointed out were "quite blocked," were now loosened one by one by the aura returning from the completion of the array, like mud plugs that had been soaked in water. Light flowed in from the main trunk, surging along the newly unblocked capillary-like branches all the way to the very tip of his fingertips.
His ten fingertips lit up for a moment at the same time. The light was not visible to the naked eye, but a pure aura of Spiritual Power that could only be captured by Spirit Vision. Each fingertip was wrapped in a thin layer of warm white light, and the aura pulsated slowly on the surface of the fingertips, like ten small stars that were lit up at the same time.
Yin Wujou placed the iron skewer back on the table and looked down at his hands. In his Spirit Vision, all the meridians were now open—the main channels were unobstructed, the branches were stretched out, and even the finest extremities were calmly transmitting light. His entire arm, from the shoulder to the fingertips, formed a complete luminous network, with smooth and rounded connections between the meridians, like a well-maintained riverbed where the water flowed quickly and steadily.
He sat at the table for a long time. Outside the window, the distant, indistinct sounds of the capital city drifted in—people calling out to pack up their stalls, the rumble of carriages passing by on the stone-paved road, and the cheerful laughter of children chasing each other in the alley. All the sounds came through the courtyard walls and window panels, muffled and distant, like signals from another world. Yin Wujou sat in this small main room, the oil lamp on the corner of the table illuminating him and the iron plate covered with lines. The entire array diagram gleamed with a deep silver-gray luster under the lamplight, like a corner of the sky that had just been lit, waiting for the twelve hours of the day and the activation of the twelve directions to make it fully illuminated.
He gently lifted the iron plate and placed it on the bedside table, then covered it again with an old cloth. After doing all this, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a while. His Spirit Vision slowly receded to the usual shallow level, but the feeling of smooth flow through his meridians did not subside; it still enveloped his limbs and torso like warm water from within. He heard very light footsteps from the next room—he was already very familiar with Snow Empress's pace and rhythm. The footsteps walked from one end of the corridor to the other, stopped, and seemed to stand by the window for a while watching the night, before walking back to the bed and sitting down.
Yin Wujou opened his eyes. He took out various scraps of paper he had collected throughout the day from his satchel— Daoist Yun's mugwort paper, Pei Yuan's time and direction chart, the scrap of paper with the address of the blacksmith shop in East Third Lane written on it, and the roll of bandages and small medicine jar that Snow Empress had given him on the way—he laid them out on the table, looked at them for a few moments, and then neatly gathered them up again, tied them into a small bundle, and stuffed them back into his inner pocket. He stood up and blew out the oil lamp on the table, plunging the room into darkness.