Arthur flopped himself on the bed, winced as he bounced a little off the hard wooden bedposts underneath. Made note not to do that again before he pulled his legs towards him. First things first, he was going to finish with this Pocket Simpanan Tua. He figured a few days of constant practise would get him there, especially if he actually focused only on practising the cultivation technique rather than playing around with dual cultivating or healing himself or whatever other jazz.
Sometimes, multi-tasking really wasn't more efficient. Especially as he needed to actually complete some of these techniques. Though, in a while he was going to have to practise it anyway, because the last portion of making the technique work was learning to store a technique within without it breaking on him.
First things first though. He crossed his legs, went into lotus position and placed his hands between his legs, cupping them loosely. He breathed, slowly, letting his mind relax. After so many years practising, it only took him a few breaths to clear his mind entirely, finding that peace of mind necessary to delve within.
Then, inside, he turned to his middle dantian. Not his lower one, which everyone utilized because it was the largest and safest to work with; but the one higher up in his chest. He felt the energy that was stored within, the thrum of Tower energy that was waiting to be compressed and turned into refined energy.
He ignored it, letting the energy gather as he manipulated the space. Energy pulsed, pouring through his meridians, channeled through various meridian points and twisted and wrung out, such that it was properly channeled and in a state ready to be manipulated. Then, he wove that net into a cloth made of power that was permeable for energy flowing in but not the other way. At least, that was the theory.
Thus far, the entire technique patterning was him learning how to manipulate his energy, creating the right kind of energy within and then weaving the cloth in the right manner. Practise, practise, practise. He could try most of this in the quiet of the nights or when he was safe, but due to the chance of backlash when he did wrong; it wasn't a technique he dared to do while in danger.
So, right now, he was focused all the way in, pushing at the Pocket Simpanan, testing it and tightening the weave. He managed to get the cloth, the weave of power down, or so he thought after time interminable. Then, with an exhalation, he released it all and watched it dissipate.
All to do it again.
Twice more, each time trying for accuracy before speed. Each time he tried to speed up, he could hear his tsifu's voice, the harsh admonition to 'Slow down. Do it right.' or 'Get it right, first; before you eat their fist next.' Perfection was the enemy of done or progress; so many people would say. But what they didn't tell you was that perfection - or the striving for it - was how you got good. So many other schools pushed for the easy wins, and those easy wins were great; until you had to dodge a half-dozen monsters or fists and you had an inch or half-inch to move in. Then, every shred of perfection was needed.
Arthur knew, in the end, it was that pursuit of perfection; of good that had gotten him through so far. He might not have the plain battle sense, that ability to cold read opponents and know what they were going to do. He was never the best duellist in the school, never the best fighter. Too small, too short, too wiry.
He only ever had two advantages. A willingness to take the hits when necessary. And the ability to dance in chaos better than any of the others. Some of his fellow students, they hated the mass fights, the two or three or four-on-ones that happened at times. Arthur? He thrived on them.
Chaos, he loved it. It loved him, because somehow things fell into place there. A place where his ability to think and react and choose fast made all the sense.
Not that any of that mattered right now, as he released the latest pocket and stood up. Stretched, got ready to start again; only for a knock to stop him.
He frowned, gripped the kris as he slid over, to the side of the door. Called out, knowing he was being paranoid.
"Who is it?"
"Jan." She wiggled the door, noted it was locked and waited. He unlocked it and swung it open, frowning as she looked around, flicking her gaze up and down him and not seeing anything problematic.
"So?"
"You were right. Those merchants, they might be good," she said, reporting in.
"Can any of it wait?" he asked.
"Uhh..." now Jan hesitated, nodded.
"Then, tonight." He moved to close the door. "Unless it can't, tonight. I need practise." A pause, a glance, then he added. "Tell the others?"
'Ya lah," she sounded doubtful and almost he asked. Almost he got involved, but at some point, he needed to get this done. Closing on the door on her, and pushing aside his worries, he got back onto his bed gingerly after a quick series of stretches.
Back to working on the Pocket Simpanan Tua. He was, mostly, happy with how far he'd come and it was time for the harder, more dangerous part. The portion that he was not looking forward to. Now he split his attention, attempted to put together the technique while he built out another.
Failed. Felt the backlash and winced as his body thrummed with unreleased power.
Fought down the pain, waited for his body to settle.
Failed again.
Tried again, as he pulled together both techniques together at the same time. It wasn't that he couldn't do it, but building a new technique he wasn't entirely familiar with and another technique like his Refined Energy Dart was difficult when one was trying to do it fast and smooth.
But he had it. So next step was to slide it in, get it stored away.
Failed, as the energy mixed. He fell over, clutching his chest, forced himself to concentrate as he smoothed out the energies, dispersed some of it. Rubbed at his nose, wondering why he was smelling mint and perfume. Something light and floral and a rememberance of a late night in a club, after delivery when a young lady had pulled him aside and....
Well. Maybe he was getting a little antsy, even with the Yin body.
Focused again. Sat down, allowing energy to course through him as he pulled everything together into seperate techniques. Adjusted the Pocket Simpanan as he began to pull the Dart through. Made it two thirds of the way in, much better than before; but another failure.
Less of a backlash, less pain.
It hurt, but what was pain but a transient emotion. Like lust or jealousy or desire. He felt his mind calm after a few breaths, marveled at how much easier it is with the Yin body, that calmness and lack of push. Tried again. And again. And eventually, he figured it out.
Enough, at least, to hold the Dart within the walls of the cloth, the woven net of energy. Then, he needed the next step, to connect the two together; such that the Pocket Simpanan took over the running, the management; feeding the finished technique the necessary energy to keep it running as it bled a little energy off just by exitsing, but not by much.
That was when he realised, there was a marked difference, between the kinds of techniques and how well each was put together. He sensed it now, now that he was even looking, how the Refined Energy Dart bled off excess energy, used itself up as he held it in him. Fractions of points, each moment, gaps that needed filling or parts that were unrefined and bleeding energy.
His concentration wavered, a part of him wanting to fix it, to do better. Perfection dragged at him, knowledge that if he did better, it might be faster to put things together, smoother. Cost less energy, which was important - oh so damn important. On the other hand...
He had other things to do, a technique he had to finish.
Forced himself to concentrate, to remember what he was here for. Made note of his imperfections though, before he began the process of detaching the technique, link itself up. The technique was mostly ready, just needing a little bit of direction and will, needing those controlling inputs and...
It was not that easy. Never was.
Lying on the ground, clutching his chest, rubbing at it as he pulled energy back into his core and recombined it; took a few moments to cultivate and refine, just to clear the dregs of rampant, uncontrolled power coursing through him that sent electric shocks through him. Thankfully, it was all his; so the pain was more akin - after the initial shock - to having a leg or limb fall asleep. Incredibly annoying, numbing and tingly; but not the end of the world.
Not unless he messed up really badly.
And that wasn't worth thinking about, so he rolled himself back onto his feet. Breathed deep.
Got back to training.