When the first drop touched Wuxin's lips, his entire body trembled—
as if thousands of souls were screaming inside him.
This poison was not something ordinary;
it was a living shadow, a parasite that nested itself inside his wound,
feeding on light, devouring spirit.
At that moment, Huo Feng felt a burning current rise from her palm to her heart—
the furnace within her had awakened again.
She wanted to scream, but the fear inside her was too deep for words.
Wuxin's body shook, his chest rose and fell in painful slowness,
and black veins crawled along his skin like midnight spreading across his flesh.
She whispered to herself:
"The Tree's blood is not enough…
The furnace inside me rejects it…
It burns everything…"
She raised her gaze toward the venerable Bi Hua,
but he did not move.
He simply observed—calm, distant—
as if she were a painting unfolding before him,
not a person desperately trying to keep someone alive.
In that moment, she understood:
she was alone.
Huo Feng placed her hand on Wuxin's chest,
closed her eyes, and began to chant—
ancient words, forgotten sounds,
like the crackling of a fire yearning for fuel.
With every verse, the parasite pulsed faster—
approaching his heart like a starving beast seeking warmth.
And when she felt its pulse brush the edges of his heart—
she pushed her hand into his chest.
The venerable Bi Hua sat beneath the white tree,
silent as an ancient stone.
Leaves drifted around him, whispering across the blood-stained ground.
Wuxin's breathing was shallow and broken,
his lips pale,
his eyes flickering with the faintest glimmer of pain.
Each breath scraped out of him like a thread dragged across stone—
a quiet sign of a poison that worked in silence.
Huo Feng knelt over him as if holding the world together with her own hands.
Her fingers trembled as they rested on his chest,
feeling a heartbeat fragile and uneven—
like a small animal trying to hold back a storm.
Bi Hua finally spoke, voice cold and steady:
"This is not an herbal poison.
It is a spirit-leeching parasite placed inside the wound."
When the first drop of Huo Feng's blood—
a drop glowing faintly with living green light—
fell into the wound,
a silent scream echoed inside Wuxin's veins.
Not from his mouth—
but from deep within him.
The parasite drank the drop.
It swelled—growing into a pulsing, living knot beneath the skin.
A crawling sensation spread beneath his flesh
like insects writhing in darkness.
Huo Feng tried to feed him another drop,
but the parasite was faster—
it devoured everything she gave.
Her breath caught.
She looked to Bi Hua in confusion,
but no words formed.
She placed her wounded hand on his chest again
and began chanting louder—
her voice turning into a long, trembling wail
that shook the air itself.
A cold current surged from her hand into Wuxin's body;
the parasite responded—
rushing toward his heart with violent hunger.
Huo Feng trembled,
but did not stop.
Then suddenly—
Wuxin's heart lurched —
a sharp, desperate pulse,
as if something inside him fought back.
Driven by a surge of desperate instinct,
Huo Feng reached deeper—
trying to seize the parasite.
She could not remove it—
but she took something else.
A flicker of its power—
a breath of spirit-devouring force
flowed into her veins.
When she pulled her hand back,
a thin thread of light connected her heart to his—
the same light said to have woven the body of her grandfather,
the Furnace Master.
For a moment—
she felt joy.
But then—
Wuxin's eyes opened,
and he coughed blood—
a dark, heavy bloom spilling over his chest.
He looked at her—
tired, hurting—
yet smiling.
She steadied him and said, softly:
"Don't be afraid. I know its secret now… I will fight this parasite."
Wuxin managed a weak, pained smile, then said, teasingly:
"So… you won't fiddle with my heart again?"
Huo Feng, her face wet with tears and taut with tension, replied hurriedly—part anger, part tenderness:
"No— I won't fiddle. I'll… I'll kill it."