Lu Chen raised a hand and touched the corner of his eye. It was neither hot nor cold. He felt nothing at all.
He picked up the dagger from the table and turned it over to inspect the blade.
The blade had been polished bright enough to reflect a person's image.
He saw his own eye—his pupil was black, his iris dark brown, exactly as usual.
But around the outer ring of his iris was a thin halo, so fine it was like a strand of hair. Its color was impossible to make out, vanishing in a flash amid the blade's reflection.
He put the dagger back.
Tuoba Shan did not ask any more questions. He picked up the Dragon Blood Grass, carefully set it beside his pillow, then leaned back against the bed.
"Go get some sleep. You still have to tend to Xu Polu's injuries tomorrow."
Lu Chen stood and walked to the door, then stopped.
"Your arm can be treated with medicine tomorrow. Yun Qingyue said that if we found the Dragon Blood Grass within seven days, it could be saved. Today is the first day."
He lifted the door curtain and walked out.
Several torches on the training ground had gone out, while the remaining ones swayed even harder in the wind.
Zhou Tieshan stood atop the city wall, saying something to a sentry in a low voice that could not be heard clearly.
In the distance, the wall of fog glimmered a ghostly green in the night. It was fainter than yesterday, but it was still there.
He returned to his own tent.
Yun Qingyue was not there. The fire in the stove had already gone out, and the medicine pot and bowls had been cleaned away.
There was an extra quilt on his bed,