Li Xiang reached out and clasped the hand Tang Hua'an offered him.
It was cold to the touch, with rough knuckles and a layer of calluses across the web of his thumb, worn there by years of gripping a spear.
"Get up."
Li Xiang quietly channeled his martial force and steadily pulled Tang Hua'an off the ground.
The instant Tang Hua'an rose, he swayed twice, then planted the Black Iron Long Spear against the stone to steady himself.
Li Xiang did not immediately release his hand.
His palm rested against the back of Tang Hua'an's hand. The warrior's [blood qi like a furnace] made its assessment the moment they touched: Tang Hua'an's skin temperature was low, his blood qi circulated sluggishly, and near his right ribs in particular, a faint strand of death qi darted beneath his skin.
Death qi from the Middle Cavern's Yin Spirits had invaded his body.
Not a trace of suffering showed on Tang Hua'an's face. He merely tilted his head and brushed the gray-white dust from his clothes, his movements as languid as if he had just woken in a pile of straw behind a tavern.
"Thanks."
Tang Hua'an released Li Xiang's hand, lifted the Black Iron Long Spear from the ground, and slung it over his shoulder again.
The shaft struck the bone of his shoulder with a dull thud.
Li Xiang withdrew his hand, stepped back, and looked Tang Hua'an over.
Half his moon-white robe had been torn apart. Its right hem was caked with gray-white death qi dust and dried blood, impossible to tell whether it was his own blood or debris splashed onto him when Yin Spirits shattered.
Sweat plastered his disheveled hair to his face, with fine rock dust caught among the strands.
The empty wine gourd at his waist