The instant the golden light rippled, Chen Wuya had already retreated to the edge of the ice tent. His step faltered, and he had to brace himself against a tent pole with one hand to steady himself. The taste of blood still filled his mouth, but he had no time to wipe it away.
Bai Zhi immediately came up to him, her eyes fixed on his face. She did not ask what had happened inside, only said softly, "She's awake. She's been crying."
Mo Feng had not followed. He was crouched at the outer edge of the camp, pinching a fragment of jade in his hand as he pressed an ear to the ground, listening for echoes from the thermal-frequency signal. The wind and snow smothered most of the sound, but he could not stop.
Chen Wuya nodded and headed for the ice tent in the corner. It had been hastily erected from animal hides and scraps of wood left behind by the Snow Demon Clan. Inside were dry straw, thick blankets, and a small fire. Its wavering glow revealed a woman curled up in the corner.
She wore a tattered gray fur coat, her hair a tangled mess, frostbite marks visible on her face. Both hands were clutched tightly over her stomach, her knuckles white. At the sound of footsteps, she jerked her head up, her eyes like those of a startled deer.
Chen Wuya stopped at the entrance and did not draw closer. He knew that look—not fear of people, but fear of being touched, fear that even a slightly heavier breath would bring harm.
The system vibrated: [Deep residual mental control detected in the target individual. Direct communication is not advised. Prioritize establishing a sense of safety.]
He stepped back half a pace and leaned against the