Chen Wuya's fingers were still pressed against the Shanzhong Acupoint. The crooked line his bloodied fingertips had drawn across the stone had already dried. His eyes were closed, his breathing so shallow that his chest barely rose and fell, yet his brows remained tightly furrowed, as though he were wrestling with something unseen.
The Misaligned Practice Connects to Spirit System did not respond. The usual prompt tone, laced with mockery, had vanished; even its most basic vibration lay silent as dead water. Yet he did not stop. With what remained of his consciousness, he kept silently repeating "Misaligned Practice Connects to Spirit," as if knocking on a rusted iron door.
Suddenly, his wrist twitched, and his entire right arm convulsed violently. The muscles tightened into a rigid line before abruptly going slack. A mouthful of dark red blood surged through his lips, dribbling down his chin and onto his collar, where it spread into a wet stain.
Hearing the movement, Bai Zhi's eyelid twitched, but she did not dare turn around. Her sword point remained aimed at the leader as she shifted back half an inch, keeping Chen Wuya at the edge of her peripheral vision—if that man dared move, she could pounce and kill him within three breaths.
Mo Feng crouched on the ground, pinched up the poisoned nail, and turned it over. Extremely fine patterns were carved into its tail, like some kind of reversed rune. It felt icy to the touch, yet had none of the texture of metal. "This thing wasn't refined," he said in a low voice. "It was 'raised.'"
The leader leaned beside the seal node. Blood seeped from the collapsed hollow of his left shoulder, and his face was ashen, but his gaze remained steady. "You only understand now? It specifically feeds on