"Ji'an," her father said softly. "You are going to give me a heart attack."
"I'll cook you a low-sodium restorative broth; you'll be fine," Ji'an waved off his concern.
.
.
.
As the afternoon stretched into early evening, Ji'an threw off the silk quilt.
The restorative sleep had done its job too well. The heavy, hyper-compressed Dao of the Iron Wok Qi was positively vibrating beneath her skin.
She felt like a pot of water left on a rolling boil with the lid clamped down.
If she didn't release some kinetic energy soon, she was genuinely afraid she might accidentally punch a hole through the floorboards just by stepping on them.
"I need to move," Ji'an announced, pacing the length of the luxurious bedchamber. "I feel like a batch of over-proofed dough. My meridians are expanding. If I don't punch something, I'm going to vibrate through the walls."
