Chapter 94 — The Pain of Spiritflame

  The afterglow of sunset filtered through the tent, scattering fine flecks of gold across Elena’s eyelashes.

  She stirred and slowly opened her eyes.

  Yuguang hovered lightly above the bed, its luminous white motes drifting down into her palm like falling snow.

  “Sleep quality was good,”

  Gemma’s contract beast said gently, touching Elena’s forehead with its horn.

  “But your Spirit Meridians are still far too weak.”

  It hesitated—then lowered its voice.

  “If the commander hadn’t insisted on making camp… you probably wouldn’t have held out.”

  The words settled heavily in Elena’s chest.

  From outside the tent came the mouthwatering scent of roasted meat, mingled with the crisp fragrance of herbs.

  The tent flap lifted suddenly.

  “Come look!”

  Hidaea leaned in, eyes bright.

  “The commander’s guarding the stew himself!”

  Elena pushed aside the curtain.

  YiChen was right outside.

  A small pot simmered steadily before him, thick broth rolling in slow, even bubbles.

  Rising steam blurred the sharp lines of his face, softening them in the amber light.

  “You’re awake?”

  He looked up at her, voice lower than usual.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Mm. Very well.”

  Her gaze drifted instinctively to the pot.

  “This is…?”

  YiChen ladled out a bowl, carefully blowing away the steam before handing it to her.

  “It’s a little bitter,” he said.

  “But it’ll help.”

  The first sip hit her like a shock.

  Bitterness exploded across her tongue, shooting straight up to her temples.

  Her brows knitted reflexively as a prickling sting spread through her mouth—

  and then—

  Warmth bloomed.

  It rose from her stomach like spring thaw melting deep ice, flowing outward through her Spirit Meridians.

  Her lower abdomen warmed first.

  Then her chest.

  Her limbs.

  By the time she swallowed the second sip, even her fingertips felt pleasantly alive.

  Elena stared at the bowl.

  What did he put in this…? How could it work so fast?

  YiChen watched in silence as color slowly returned to her cheeks.

  A fleeting trace of satisfaction crossed his eyes—

  soft, restrained, like a brief glimmer slipping across a night sky.

  “The soup contains stag heart and stag lungs,” he said quietly.

  “Try to finish it.”

  Inside the Consciousness Sea, Shixi spun in delighted circles.

  “You picked the tenderest Spirit Petals from the heart! That’s where the core essence hides!

  And with the refined lung tissue added—she’ll recover really fast~”

  Shadowfang gave a low snort.

  “At least the risk we took climbing that cliff for the Purple Spirit Fungus wasn’t wasted.”

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  That evening, when Elena offered to perform purification again, YiChen refused without hesitation.

  “Not tonight,” he said firmly.

  “Rest. Let your body recover properly.”

  ————

  Morning light slipped through the seams of the tent, laying fine threads of gold across the ground.

  Elena hurried up to YiChen’s tent, bright with energy. She was just about to speak when the flap lifted from inside.

  “Come in.”

  YiChen’s voice carried the faint rasp of early morning. She ducked inside and found him already seated cross-legged. The collar of his black undershirt lay slightly open, revealing the Pact Mark tracing along his collarbone—dark-gold lines faintly catching the dawn.

  “I’m here to purify!”

  She dropped to her knees in front of him, rose-gold Spiritflame blooming lightly at her fingertips.

  In the consciousness sea, Shixi bounced in delight.

  “Finally! The divine meridians are practically clogged with black thorns!”

  Shadowfang flicked his tail impatiently.

  “Let her handle it. This sovereign’s star core can barely turn.”

  The instant Elena’s palm pressed to his chest, YiChen knew—

  Something was different.

  The Spiritflame was unusually gentle. Warm, steady, carrying her bright focus as it seeped slowly into his meridians, bit by bit.

  …Damn it.

  He shut his eyes at once. His jaw tightened as he forced his breathing even.

  The flame advanced, dissolving the remnants of black thorns.

  His breath caught for a fraction of a second.

  Without permission, his fingers lifted—

  and before reason could intervene, they were already reaching forward.

  They stopped just short of her waist.

  A single breath’s distance.

  “Almost done…”

  Elena murmured softly.

  For that heartbeat, he nearly closed the gap.

  Then reason snapped tight.

  YiChen halted himself, fingers curling briefly before forcing them to relax—as if severing a dangerous thought mid-stream.

  He drew a low breath, lips pressed thin.

  The Spiritflame flowed on, and the final black thorn dispersed completely.

  YiChen opened his eyes and looked away at once. The tips of his ears had flushed despite him.

  “Did it hurt?”

  Elena withdrew her hand, a trace of unease in her voice.

  “No.”

  His voice was hoarse, but carefully steady.

  “Go get ready. We’re heading out.”

  She rose, hesitated, then added quietly as she turned away,

  “Um… the soup. It was really good.”

  YiChen’s movement paused.

  He didn’t turn around—only gave a small nod.

  But Elena saw it clearly.

  At the nape of his neck, the Pact Mark glimmered for a fleeting instant—

  a restrained, gentle bloom of gold.

  ————

  Morning dew had yet to fade, and Elena’s steps were as light as a young deer slipping through the forest.

  He didn’t press down on my hand again!

  The realization fluttered straight through her chest.

  The Spiritflame at her fingertips flowed more smoothly than ever, warm and obedient, and even the crystal trees lining the path seemed to respond—leaves scattering fine shards of reflected light as if sharing her joy.

  But that happiness ended the moment the formation shifted.

  YiChen exchanged positions with Han Yue once more, moving soundlessly to the vanguard.

  At departure, he still reached out—expressionless—and took her backpack from her hands as usual.

  Yet that retreating figure felt different now.

  An invisible wall rose between them, silent and absolute.

  For the next five days, that distance never closed.

  On the march, he was always ahead.

  At rest, always apart.

  Once, while setting up camp, Elena couldn’t help herself and glanced his way.

  YiChen happened to turn his head at the same moment.

  His gaze was cool—

  and yet it froze, just for a fraction of a second.

  Her heart lurched violently.

  For a breath, she thought he might walk over.

  Even if only to hand her a piece of compressed ration bread.

  Even if only to say something ordinary.

  But he merely nodded once.

  Then turned away.

  As though nothing had happened at all.

  During purification, he never opened his eyes again.

  Their exchanges were stripped down to the bare minimum—

  “Mm.”

  “Okay.”

  “Start.”

  “Finished.”

  That was all.

  “Wuu…”

  Elena clutched the edge of her sleeping bag and buried her face against her knees.

  Did I hurt him?

  …Or was it something else?

  She began counting possible mistakes on her fingers, one by one:

  1. Was my purification too slow? Did it make him uncomfortable?

  2. Did I walk too slowly and drag the team down?

  3. Or was I just slow at everything I did?

  4. Maybe… I disturbed him?

  5. Or—was it because I let out that tiny burp after finishing the soup that day?

  Her fingers curled into her palm.

  …What do I do?

  Outside the tent, YiChen sat motionless by the campfire, eyes fixed on the embers as they collapsed inward.

  Shadowfang sneered inside the Consciousness Sea.

  “Why pretend to be detached? This sovereign can smell the salt of her tears from here.”

  Shixi spun anxiously in tight circles.

  “Go comfort her already! Even her Spiritflame’s gone cold!”

  YiChen crushed the dry twig in his hand.

  The brittle snap echoed softly.

  I can’t soften.

  Those thoughts—

  those filthy, uncontrollable thoughts—

  would destroy her.

  —————

  The exit of the black pine forest finally came into view, and a collective breath of relief passed through the team.

  Elena followed silently at the rear.

  Her eyes were swollen red, like overripe peaches.

  Another four days had gone by.

  She had tried gentler purification.

  Tried keeping what she believed was the proper distance.

  Tried—finally—stopping herself from initiating conversation altogether.

  Nothing changed.

  YiChen’s coldness remained unmoved, hard as ice, freezing her little by little from the inside out.

  When boarding the transport truck, his hand reached out instinctively, steadying her elbow for a brief second.

  She only nodded.

  Her teeth sank into her lower lip.

  Don’t cry.

  At least not here.

  The truck lurched forward, rolling toward the city.

  Elena kept her head lowered the entire way, staring at her interlaced hands.

  Those fingertips that once shimmered with rose-gold Spiritflame were now pale as paper, drained of warmth.

  Inside the Consciousness Sea, Shadowfang’s fury raged like a wildfire.

  “What madness has seized you?”

  “Do you truly need to push her this far just to feel in control?!”

  Shixi’s silver-white glow flickered weakly, like a candle near its end.

  “The Spiritflame…”

  “It’s turned bitter…”

  YiChen stared out the window at the trees blurring past, his profile rigid, his silence unyielding.

  Her Spiritflame has turned bitter—

  yet I have never wanted to be closer to her than I do now.

  She would never know—

  Every purification was a sweet execution, blade after blade.

  Every word of concern was a gentle poison sinking deeper into him.

  She was light.

  The only light that had ever reached the depths of his darkened life.

  And he—

  was a creature steeped in blood and sin,

  too tainted, too filthy,

  to be allowed anywhere near her.

  She only wanted to save him.

  Only wanted him to stop hurting.

  But she didn’t know—

  he had already been in pain for so long

  that there was no path left

  that led back.