Lin Tian closed his courtyard gate and stayed with his back against it for a moment. The wood was cool through his shirt. The yard was quiet, and the quiet did not feel safe anymore.
He flexed his right hand, then relaxed it, then flexed again.
The foreign chill under his skin was still there.
It sat in his wrist like a thin line of cold that did not belong, and the more he paid attention, the more he could feel it riding along his circulation.
Lin Tian muttered, "So you really did leave something on me."
No answer came, and he did not expect one.
He walked under the peach tree and stopped. The branches were bare. The stone tiles were clean. Nothing in his yard looked different. That was what bothered him.
He raised his right hand, rotated his wrist slowly, then guided his qi up from his dantian, through his arm, toward the wrist.
