The sky had just darkened. I was sitting inside, leafing through an old prescription. Afu was tidying the tables and chairs outside, his footsteps light. The door was half-open, swaying whenever the wind blew.
I knew someone was watching from outside.
Since yesterday, that sickly sweet scent had never fully dissipated. Mo Xuan's people were still waiting for me to make a mistake. They wanted to see me panic, see me scramble for an antidote, preferably watch a few more people close to me die and force me to reveal my trump card.
But I was in no hurry.
I had already told Afu to put up a notice—"Physician Yin Feng is in seclusion recovering and will not be seeing patients for the time being." No one came to disturb me again. Even meals were left at the courtyard gate.
I lowered my head and looked at my palm. A thread of heat drifted beneath my skin, as though something were about to burst free. The Heaven-Slaying Origin had reached the threshold of its tenth strand. It only needed one final shred of pressure to solidify. The more I was watched, the more I concealed it without acting, the faster it accumulated.
Just then, the courtyard gate was knocked on three times.
They were not light taps, nor probing knocks, but weighty raps, each one steadier than the last.
Afu ran to open the door. When he returned, his expression had changed. "Young Master, Crimson Flame's leader is here."
I looked up.
A tall man stood outside, draped in a dark red cloak. His left arm was wrapped in cloth strips, and burn scars showed on the exposed skin. He had brought no attendants and wore no armor, yet he stood like a blade ready to leave its sheath at