Throwing Fire

"King in Yellow?" Lu Li did not react at first. Upon reflection, while interpreting the Yellow Emperor as the King in Yellow felt strange, it did not seem entirely problematic. As he whispered the name, a faint sense of horror crept into Lu Li's heart—so faint that even his sensitive control failed to detect it.

"The time has come; you must return. Take good care of Master!" A smile appeared on the Puppet's wooden face. Having set aside her long-standing worries, as if she had let go of everything, her aura became peaceful, even deathly still. "I am truly sorry for deceiving you and using such despicable means. I do not care how you view me, but please, you must take care of Master."

The entire world began to turn dreamlike, twisting and warping until it shattered. By the time Lu Li regained consciousness, he had returned to the dilapidated temple. Feeling a tugging sensation on his nose, he instinctively wiped it, only to discover dried blood scabs. Then, he suddenly realized he could move his hands again.

The Old Man opposite him was waking up in a daze. Lu Li moved his body and sensed carefully, discovering that the injuries he had sustained in the Dream of Delusion had completely healed upon his return. The only remaining sign of injury was the nosebleed caused by his brain being "unlocked" upon entry. Reaching into his pocket, he found all three Rule Modules intact, while the Cinnabar Talisman lay in the other pocket.

"It's just..." Lu Li flexed his left hand and found that its dexterity had decreased significantly compared to his right. He sensed carefully and found that the blood vessels, muscles, and nerves in his left hand were perfectly fine, yet its agility had inexplicably dropped by half.

"Is this a mystical side effect?" Lu Li had no solution for this. He continued to silently monitor his condition, noting that all the places where he had been injured now felt uncomfortable, aching for no apparent reason. However, a strange intuition told him that these discomforts would vanish after some time, unlike the permanent loss of dexterity in his left hand.

"Looking at the sky, there is less than an hour until dawn." The Old Man walked to the temple entrance, looked out, and returned with a sigh. "It's all my fault for being lazy. There isn't enough firewood to last until dawn, and the night is not safe. This... alas!"

"Old sir, there is no need to blame yourself too much. Until the very last moment, no one can say what will happen. Heaven never closes all doors," Lu Li comforted him. Yet, his eyes held a smile; he already understood what the Puppet was planning. He recalled what she had said back then: Monsters are the best fuel.

The teardrop at the corner of the Puppet's eye released a strange ripple. Lurking in an unknowable place, it slowly stirred people's emotions. A hint of guilt would transform into intense shame; a hint of self-reproach would turn into surging remorse; a hint of resentment would become absolute hatred.

"I am nothing but a failure! I've lived for decades and achieved nothing, only to become a burden in my old age." The Old Man couldn't help but recall his past: a lifetime of rushing about, gaining nothing, lonely and helpless. Now, in the dead of winter with snow filling the sky, he couldn't even afford winter clothes. He had no home, forced to drift into a ruined temple to wait for death in the cold night.

"Why have I lived such a pathetic life? Isn't it all because of you!" The Old Man watched the fire grow smaller, with no more wood to add. The emotions in his heart churned. Thinking of his life, an impulse surged within him. He suddenly flew into a rage, looking at the Puppet in his arms. Anger assaulted his soul, shielding his reason. "I wasted my whole life on you, and now I have nothing to show for it. Winter is here, the night is almost over, and what use are you? You might as well be burned—at least you can keep me warm!!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the Old Man let go, tossing the Puppet into the fire. The flames swept over her, sparking a burst of light as if the temperature had risen a notch. Lu Li watched silently from the side. Although he could not sense the methods the Puppet used, the information from the system panel made it clear what was happening: the Puppet was using hypnosis to sacrifice herself to illuminate another.

As the Puppet entered the fire, the flames grew larger. The Old Man's eyes were bloodshot. He sat sullenly by the fire, his hands instinctively reaching out to hold something, but he suddenly froze. What else could he hold? Hadn't his most precious possession just been thrown into the fire?

Watching the rising inferno, the Old Man was stunned. "What... what have I done?"

As his emotions subsided, his lost reason returned. The Old Man stared blankly at the fire, his body losing balance as he collapsed to the ground. He didn't react, suddenly realizing he had committed the most foolish act of his life.

Just as the Old Man prepared to rush into the fire to save her, the Puppet in the flames creaked and sat up. Sparks flew, and the heat distorted the air, making the Puppet in the fire appear very distant.

The costume on the Puppet caught fire, wrapping around her and making her look even more magnificent. She smiled gracefully, bowed slowly toward the Old Man, and performed a formal, charming salute. That vermilion teardrop was not obscured by the flames; instead, it became exceptionally dazzling against the backdrop of the fire.

Her face was full of joy, perhaps the happiest moment of her life, for they had finally escaped the fate of the Other Shore Flower. Perhaps the flower and leaves would one day meet again. Even if the price was death, even if it meant turning to ash, what did it matter?

I have performed thousands of songs and dances under your hand, but this time, I will perform for you myself. To be able to save you, to truly meet you, and to offer you a song and dance—what a wonderful thing that is! To burn myself for this, to turn to ash, is worth it!

The Puppet danced in the fire, beautiful beyond words. Tears welled in the Old Man's eyes, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at the figure in the flames, habitually reciting the lyrics to accompany her dance.

As the song ended, the Puppet's joints collapsed with a crack, falling into the charcoal embers, no longer resembling her original form. The Old Man could no longer suppress his tears; he collapsed to the ground and wailed, just like the child who had been held back by his parents from watching the String Puppet Opera years ago. He understood that what he had thrown into the fire was not just a puppet, but his lifelong persistence and his lifelong love. To him, the Puppet had long ceased to be an inanimate object; she was his family, his own child.

Because of the Puppet, the fire rose, and it was exceptionally warm—warming not just his body, but his soul.

After a long while, the Old Man sighed: "Warm, yet lonely."

He wanted to write much more, but suddenly felt that at this moment, silence spoke louder than words...