39: Chapter 39 The Quiet Remedy of Fingertip Spiritual Power

The Old neighborhood was lazy in the afternoon sun. The wild chrysanthemums at the base of the wall drooped listlessly, their dew long evaporated, leaving only a faint layer of white frost.

Chen Jie crouched beside the park bench in the Old neighborhood, holding a piece of fine sandpaper, smoothing out the rough solder blobs left over from yesterday's repair. Rust shavings mixed with sunlight fell onto his work pants, looking like a sprinkling of gold dust.

The canvas cover of the bench had been removed by Grandma Zhang for washing, revealing the mottled wooden frame underneath and the newly welded steel bars.

Zhao Kai sauntered over carrying a bottle of iced soda and kicked the bench seat. The wood emitted a dull "thud." "I'd say your repair job is a bit too perfunctory, isn't it? Just sanding it twice and calling it a day? If Grandma Zhang gets another indentation from sitting on it, she's bound to nag you again."

Chen Jie didn't look up, his fingertips lightly grazing the solder blob. For some reason, a familiar tingling sensation suddenly flared in the web between his thumb and index finger. He subconsciously curled his fingers, hovering his fingertip vaguely over the break in the steel bar as if measuring the arc of the weld.

A faint green light seeped from the zipper of his canvas backpack, crawling up along the veins on the inside of his wrist and gathering into a tiny point of light on his fingertip, which then "plopped" onto the solder blob.

He applied a slight force with his fingertip, and the light point wandered along the texture of the solder. His thumb and index finger slowly closed in, wrapping the raised burrs little by little. The rust shavings dissolved with a rustle in the green light, revealing the blue-gray metallic luster underneath.

"So, Qi doesn't just come out of thin air." This thought suddenly popped into Chen Jie's mind. When he was controlling the flow of light with his fingers just now, the force he used was exactly the same as when tightening bicycle brake cables—too loose and the light would scatter, too tight and the solder would deform. He had to find the right angle for the screw thread, slowly adjusting it by feel.

He remembered the first time he slowed down time at Suiyu Slope; his whole body had gone stiff with exertion, like trying to unscrew a rusted nut with a wrench—forcing it would only cause it to slip. But now, the Qi flowed out from his fingertips like dropping oil into a motor shaft, naturally permeating along the texture, and even he was surprised by this smoothness.

"That's spooky..." Zhao Kai nearly dropped his soda. "Look at that steel bar! Why did it suddenly light up?"

Chen Jie flicked his fingertip against the steel bar, and the green light vanished in response, leaving only some warm iron filings on his fingertip.

He grabbed the sandpaper and polished along the track, his movements half a beat faster than usual. This polishing was more like finishing touches for the Qi—just like how you always have to snap the back cover shut after fixing a radio. It wasn't an unnecessary addition, but rather a way to hide the "unusual" within the ordinary.

He suddenly understood that so-called controlling Qi was not some earth-shattering ability; it was merely applying the patience used for repairing things to the flow of light. When repairing a fan, you have to wait for the glue to set; when using Qi, you have to wait for the light flow to converge. When adjusting a bicycle chain, you have to find the right tension; when controlling the light, you also have to gauge the strength—you can't be impatient, nor can you be lax.

"It's just the sunlight glaring off it." Chen Jie shoved the sandpaper into his pocket, the tingling in his palm not yet faded. "It's fixed, give it a try."

Zhao Kai sat down skeptically. As soon as his backside touched the seat, he gave a surprised "Huh?" "It really doesn't poke anymore? That solder lump was like a little rock just now, how come it feels like it's been smoothed out now?"

Chen Jie smiled and curled his fingers, rubbing them against his pant leg. In the lingering warmth of the green light on his fingertips lay a realization more precious than "knowing how to use Qi": what this jade stone brought him was never some superpower, but a deeper understanding of the word "repair." He was repairing objects and training his Heart-Nature. Even that strange and bizarre Qi had become a part of his craft, like the most handy screwdriver—once held in his hand, he knew its weight, understood its speed, and followed the textures of daily life, tightening his life into place little by little.

Grandma Zhang walked over carrying the freshly washed seat cover and patted the bench seat. "Cooler is better; it's comfortable to sit on in the summer."

The wind blew through the locust tree leaves, and Chen Jie looked at the wrinkles on the seat cover baked by the sun. He suddenly felt that this Qi was just like the days in the Old neighborhood—looking ordinary, yet hidden within the rubbing of his fingertips was a tenderness forged through a thousand trials.