Chapter 6: The Fire He Cannot Cross
“Sect Leader, it is time to announce the start.”
An elder's quiet reminder pulled He Yi'an from his thoughts.
“I know.” He rubbed his temples. Ever since falling asleep in Shang Zhu's room that night, his head had felt foggy and he often lost focus. Thinking about it only made the ache worse.
“Come forward in order and place your hand on the Spirit-Nurturing Pearl.”
After giving the instruction, He Yi'an looked again at Shang Zhu at the head of the line. He already knew the boy possessed a lightning spiritual root, yet still felt strangely expectant.
The candidates advanced. Apart from the ten accepted into the inner sect, the others could choose whether to be tested. A superior spiritual root could raise one's status, though talent and the cultivation path one chose mattered more. That was why the root test came last.
Shang Zhu placed his hand on the pearl. As expected, bright yellow lightning crackled within it.
Then an extremely faint red mist appeared.
Shang Zhu's heart lurched. He looked around. Everyone discussed only his lightning root, as if the mist did not exist. The elders appeared normal too—except He Yi'an, whose brow was tightly furrowed.
“Shang Zhu—lightning spiritual root!”
At the announcement, Shang Zhu's fingers contracted almost imperceptibly. He stepped aside to wait for the test to end, nowhere near as calm as he appeared.
He Yi'an's scrutinizing gaze circled endlessly in his mind.
Had He Yi'an discovered something?
No—he must know it was a forbidden, heretical technique.
How would He Yi'an remove it?
The word remove dragged Shang Zhu back into flames he could not escape. Pain. Too much pain. Though he stood beside a stream, the burning followed him. It scorched not only his skin but the vessels joining his heart, until that heart seemed burned through and dripping blood.
“Shang Zhu! Shang Zhu!”
Mu Songge called several times, then waved a hand before his face. In the next instant, agony pierced her wrist.
Shang Zhu stared at her with a face cold as autumn frost. His usually smiling violet eyes were filled with murderous hostility. Mu Songge recoiled.
Only then did he awaken. Realizing what he had done, he pinched himself hard until his eyes reddened, then frantically pulled ointment from his storage pouch and smeared it generously over her wrist.
“I'm sorry. It was my fault...”
The pain mattered less to Mu Songge than the way he had looked at her—as if she were already dead.
But seeing him like this, she could not scold him.
“I'm fine, Shang Zhu. Look, it has already healed.”
Only faint redness remained, but Shang Zhu knew how hard he had gripped her. No medicine worked that quickly.
Was her concern false or genuine?
He hid his suspicion. “I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Mist clouded his eyes, his brows drew together, and his lashes trembled as he avoided her gaze. Mu Songge's maternal instincts erupted. Too adorable!
“If you truly feel guilty, buy me a meal.”
Shang Zhu brightened. Before they separated, he pressed several free medicines into her hands. Anything that failed to serve a purpose was waste.
When the testing ended, everyone went to choose suitable cultivation manuals.
“Little Zhu.”
Shang Zhu had just said goodbye to Mu Songge when the familiar voice sounded behind him. He had prepared an explanation, but when he turned and saw his supposedly beloved master, he ran straight over.
He Yi'an caught and steadied him. Unsurprised by the tears clinging to Shang Zhu's lashes, he asked nothing and merely wiped them away.
“Let's go, Little Zhu.”
Shang Zhu took his offered hand and swallowed his prepared story.
Why did He Yi'an ask nothing? Hadn't his possessiveness always been terrifying?
They were going to select manuals, but not toward the library. Instead, they flew to Silent Reflection Peak.
“Master, aren't I supposed to choose cultivation texts?”
He Yi'an continued walking. “Yes, but I have already chosen them for you.”
How could he choose without supposedly knowing Shang Zhu's spiritual root?
He Yi'an proved him wrong. Three famous manuals waited, each better than the last—and none resembled the excessively gentle techniques Shang Zhu had practiced in his previous life.
He Yi'an handed them over and explained how they would strengthen his body and magic.
Shang Zhu felt split in two. One half listened carefully, while the other drowned in questions.
“Do you understand?”
He stroked the rough covers and smiled. “I understand.” He repeated the explanation perfectly.
“Good. Return to your room and study them.”
Shang Zhu left, but his effect on He Yi'an remained.
That red mist—was it another result of the damaged formation?
Why had Little Zhu's mood changed so suddenly?
Had someone hurt him?
Anger rose at the thought. How could anyone injure the person He Yi'an protected?
Yet he could not ask. He could not force Shang Zhu to speak aloud about what looked like an open wound.
He sat until deep night before finally going to Shang Zhu's room.
“Burned... so hot...”
“Stay away! What is that?”
Shang Zhu could not sleep. Tears soaked his white lashes and pillow.
He Yi'an wiped them, but they would not stop.
“Go away! Fire—so much fire!”
He was trapped in a nightmare. He Yi'an caught the hands clawing at his own skin and restrained him. Long afterward, the cries faded and his body went still.
He Yi'an treated his arms. They had been torn terribly, with blood and scraps of flesh beneath Shang Zhu's nails.
He no longer needed to ask. Shang Zhu's behavior that day came from the pain of losing his parents and the damaged formation. The vicious array summoned a person's deepest suffering and the sensation of burning.
But why did he dream specifically of fire?
He Yi'an infused spiritual power, cleaned every wound, and remained until dawn.
After he left, Shang Zhu's violet eyes opened. Their emotion was unreadable. He stared briefly at his bandaged arm, then closed them again.