The Red Sun Pill clenched in his palm pressed against the scar there, making it tingle faintly.
The pill was only the size of a thumb, crimson through and through. The halo on its surface leaked through his fingers, illuminating every line in his palm with startling clarity.
Yun Qingyue had said it was made with her own blood essence. Lu Chen had not asked how much blood essence she had used, how many days and nights she had spent brewing it, or how many furnaces of failed pills it had taken to produce this single one.
There was no point asking. She would not tell him, and even if she did, he could never repay her.
Outside the tent, people were moving supplies. Iron nails struck against iron nails with a constant clanging, mingled with Zhou Tieshan's hoarse voice shouting work chants.
By the time he had returned after setting up the formation last night, dawn had nearly broken. He had slept for less than an hour, yet now he was back on the parade ground giving orders.
Twelve years in the border army had forged the man into a lump of iron—unbreakable, indestructible, capable only of rusting away bit by bit.
Lu Chen tucked the Red Sun Pill back into his robes. The Nine-Turn Soul-Returning Pill was still there as well. The two pills pressed against his chest through the cloth, like two different hearts beating within him.
When he rose, his knees cracked. It was not a problem with his bones; his true essence had been depleted for too long, and his muscles had begun to atrophy.
The twenty percent of true essence in his dantian had not increased at all since last night. It was like a pool of stagnant water, impossible to bring back to