"Then do not stop listening," she said. "Use it."
Qin Yu's eyes trembled. "How?"
"Do you remember what I told you in the room? You are not trying to shut the wind away. You are telling it where to go. Right now, behind this truck, the air is rushing toward us because we are moving fast. Let it gather dust from the road. Push it backward. Not sideways. Not everywhere. Backward."
Qin Yu's mouth parted as if she wanted to say she could not.
Then she looked at her brother.
Qin Zhi had one arm wrapped around her shoulder, his face pale from pain but his gaze steady.
"You can try," he said. "You do not have to be perfect."
Tang Li Yue approved of that answer.
Being perfect was wonderful, of course. She would know.
But in situations involving pursuit, bullets, and poor road maintenance, functional effort was better than paralyzed terror.
Qin Yu lifted both trembling hands.
At first, nothing happened.
Then the air at the rear of the truck shifted.
