Heaven-Burning, Sea-Boiling

The sea was growing taller.

At first, only the waves had risen a little. Then everyone realized it was not the waves growing higher—the boundary between sea and shore was blurring.

The golden-red seawater was no longer content to slap against the reefs. It began climbing upward, climbing into the cracks of the embankment stones, climbing through the air itself, climbing over everyone's shadows.

Zhao Canghai lowered his head to look at his feet. At some point, an extremely thin layer of golden-red slurry had seeped between his boot soles and the reef, spreading upward along the tread patterns.

His brows drew together slightly. A wisp of cold air coursed down through his body, freezing the slurry between his boots and the reef into a thin layer of ice. But the moment the ice formed, the slurry seeped through its cracks and continued climbing upward.

"Fall back." Zhao Canghai's voice was terribly hoarse.

Wang Meng drew a breath, his throat bobbing. Suddenly, his mouth went dry. The wound on his left shoulder had already stopped bleeding, yet now an itch faintly rose from deep within it, as though ants were crawling through his flesh. He reached to scratch it instinctively, only for Zhang Zhenshan to slap his hand away.

"Don't touch it," Zhang Zhenshan said. "And don't smell it."

But the scent had already wormed its way into everyone's nostrils. It was like fully ripened fruit, and like aged vintage wine.

Wang Meng drew another breath. This time, he saw the air he exhaled turn into a faint golden-red mist the instant it left his nose, drifting toward the sea and merging into that sea that was "growing taller."

"This isn't a demon." Zhao Canghai muttered, his voice so soft that the wind nearly scattered it.

Lie Chen stood atop