Back in the Kai Fu Empire, a palpable tension hangs over the palace. The once-bustling courtyards are now silent, the only movement the guards patrolling in formation outside the palace gates. The atmosphere is heavy, like a thick fog wrapping around everyone's shoulders and making it hard to breathe.

  Inside the Imperial Study, the Emperor sits motionless at his son's bedside. The hours seem to stretch on indefinitely, every passing second a silent torture. The Empress stands at the window, her eyes fixed on the distant mountains as if trying to will back a miracle.

  Wang Lee sits in his quarters, the air around him still and heavy. His fingers are curled loosely into a meditation seal—but for once, it feels wrong.

  Usually, he could slip into focus like water through fingers. But now? Every time he tries to quiet his mind... that night flashes behind his eyes: Jiyin collapsing. The scroll dissolving in water. Red beans.

  A muscle jumps in Wang Lee's jaw as frustration coils tight beneath his ribs—because this is worse than any battle wound: the knowledge that something vital has been stolen from him... and he doesn't know how to get it back.

  (Morning - 1 AM)

  The palace is silent, the only sound the soft breathing of sleeping servants and guards on duty. It's one o'clock in the morning now... and Wang Lee's eyes are still wide open. He's been staring at the ceiling for hours, thoughts churning like flood waters behind his eyes.

  He sits up suddenly, the blanket falling from his chest as he swings his legs silently off the bed. The night chill barely touches his skin as he pads barefoot to the window and pushes it open. The cold air rushes in, carrying the scent of moonlit gardens below.

  Wang Lee moves with practiced quiet—slipping out of his quarters like a shadow. The door creaks softly as he eases it open, pausing to listen for any sign of guards on patrol. When none comes, he steps into the dimly lit corridor.

  His bare feet make no sound against the polished floorboards as he weaves through darkened hallways. A servant snores loudly in a corner; Wang Lee holds his breath until they pass by unnoticed.

  Ahead—the garden courtyard stretches under silver moonlight... and beyond that? The city waits... but for what?

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  Wang Lee's face remains perfectly composed, a mask of stillness as he moves through the palace. But beneath that calm exterior, his mind screams: What am I doing?

  A guard rounds the corner—too close. Wang Lee freezes against a pillar just in time; their eyes flicker over him... then away.

  The second they pass? He melts into shadow again—slipping closer to Jiyin's chambers with every step.

  As Wang Lee draws close to Jiyin's royal room, he spots two guards stationed outside—both alert, their hands resting on their weapons without even flinching.

  He holds his breath, reaching out with an invisible tendril of energy and gently touching their foreheads. Their eyes flutter—their gazes going unfocused. With the slightest touch, they drop into a deep, trance-like sleep.

  Wang Lee waits a moment before continuing on, the silence in the corridors even heavier now.

  Wang Lee's foot lands on the scorching floor—and a sharp hiss of pain shoots up his leg. He clamps his palm over his mouth, biting back a yelp as the heat sears through the thin soles of his shoes.

  The entire room is wreathed in flickering red sigils—sealed by an ancient fire spell so potent that even breathing too close makes sweat bead on skin. Jiyin lies motionless in its center, untouched by flame... but Wang Lee can't take another step forward without burning alive.

  A bead of blood drips from where he bit into flesh; frustration coils tight beneath ribs as realization sinks: He's trapped outside.

  Wang Lee looks around—desperate for something, anything that can help.

  But the room is bare. Even the furniture lies just out of reach, barely visible in the glow of flames around Jiyin.

  In front of him, the heat warps the air like a mirage; behind him, the corridor stretches into dark shadows. And for just one moment, he feels... lost.

  It's a strange feeling—a crack in his usual control. Wang Lee grits his teeth hard, forcing himself back to focus.

  Jiyin's still breathing is the only sound, and it's faint. Wang Lee closes his eyes, blocking out the pain in his hand. When he opens them, he scans the chamber again—but there's not a single thing he can reach.

  Wang Lee inhales deeply, centering himself. He whispers, "Qigong."

  The air around him seems to hum, almost vibrating with the energy that floods through his body...

  In an instant, he leaps up, propelled by a force that seems to lift him off the ground. Wang Lee shoots over the ground-searing sigils and lands within the chamber—standing at Jiyin's bedside.

  He lands on the bed, his bare feet pressed against the cool silk coverlet. Then Jiyin comes into view—pale, lifeless beneath him. Wang Lee can't help it; his hands come up to support his body, each landing on either side of Jiyin's waist.

  They're close like this, now. Jiyin's head tipped back against the pillows... and Wang Lee's face just above his, their chests less than an arm's length apart.

  Wang Lee shakes his head, forcing his mind to clear. He scrambles off the bed—away from that moment of dangerous connection. Then he takes a breath, steadying his focus. This is about Jiyin; not any strange feelings he hasn't had time to process.

  Wang Lee swallows the lump in his throat and turns back to Jiyin. He places a hand gently on the prince's motionless chest.

  Wang Lee makes up his mind. He sits Jiyin up, shifting the prince's weight so he's resting against his chest. Then Wang Lee raises both hands, forming into fists, and he closes his eyes—concentrating.

  A red mist starts spreading through the air, spiraling from Jiyin's back as if pulled from the prince's lungs. Wang Lee's knuckles turn white where his fists grip Jiyin's robes, and the muscles in his arms tremble. This is a technique of purification.

  Wang Lee's hands press firmly against Jiyin's back, his breath steadying as he begins the forbidden ritual—Blood Awakening. A dark chant spills from his lips, low and guttural. The red mist coils thicker now, twisting like serpents around them both.

  Jiyin jolts in Wang Lee's grip—a sudden gasp tearing from the prince's throat as if ripped awake by force. H

  is body burns, feverish under Wang Lee's touch... but beneath that? A heartbeat finally quickens.....