The medicine in the tent had indeed gone cold.
The bowl had been sitting beside the stove, and a dark brown film had formed over the surface. At the touch of a spoon, it lifted off in one whole sheet, revealing the thicker, more bitter brew beneath.
Yun Qingyue poured the medicine back into the pot to reheat it. Squatting before the stove, she fanned the flames with a palm-leaf fan, stroke after stroke, unhurried and steady.
Lu Chen sat in a chair, his right arm resting on the armrest as he lowered his head to look at his left hand.
Below the elbow, the flesh of his left arm had split and curled back, exposing dark red muscle, grayish-white tendons, and bone.
The bones were pale gold, giving off a faint gleam beneath the tent's lamplight.
The Dragon-Pattern Spirit Bones had not shattered, but the patterns upon them had dimmed until they were nearly invisible, like cracks in a dried-up riverbed.
After fanning the fire for a while, Yun Qingyue rose and rummaged through the medicine chest for a pair of silver scissors, then a roll of bandages, a bottle of medicinal powder, and a bowl of saltwater. She set them beside the stove before squatting down once more to fan the flames.
"Where's the Dragon Blood Grass?"
Lu Chen pulled the herb from his robes. It was three inches tall, with two leaves and black mud still clinging to its roots.
Yun Qingyue took it and studied it in her palm for a long time.
The golden patterns on its leaves flickered in the lamplight, like the pulse of a living thing.
She snipped off one leaf with the silver scissors and crushed it in a small porcelain bowl. Green juice splattered out, carrying a sharp, pungent scent.