The white fur all over its body was withering, splitting, and falling out at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Its once fluffy, flowing fur curled, dried out, and snapped, strand by strand.
The breaks exposed the grayish-white flesh beneath.
That flesh was shriveling too, like dried orange peel, clinging tightly to its skeleton.
Its entire body was shrinking.
From a weasel nearly two meters tall, it shrank to a meter and a half, then a meter twenty, before finally curling into a ball like a newborn cub.
Huang Pi braced its forepaws against the ground, its body heaving with ragged breaths.
With every breath, a small puff of grayish-white powder sprayed from its mouth and nose.
It was sweating, and the drops fell to the ground, mixing with dust to form little balls of mud.
Its eyes had grown so cloudy that its pupils were no longer visible, leaving only a hazy layer of gray.
"I regret it..."
Its voice was faint and fragmented, broken and halting, as though coming from somewhere far away.
Every word came with a gasp. "If only I'd known..."
It turned its head.
The bones in its neck gave a crisp crack.
It looked toward Huang Santainai, who had appeared at some point beside Yang Yong and had remained silent.
Huang Santainai's soul stood beside the stone platform.
She had not moved.
She had not moved since the moment Huang Pi rushed in.
Her face was hidden behind the faint blue-white glow of her soul, making her expression hard to see.
Huang Pi looked at her.
Its lips quivered a few times, as though it wanted to say something.
Those lips touched twice, but the sound they made was too faint to hear clearly.
Then it stopped looking.
It turned its head back.