Lian asked Yan what Blood Ignition felt like while Qinghe changed the dressing on her wrist. Bo sat on the floor nearby, practicing how to keep a cup steady with both hands.
“I don’t want a lesson,” Lian said. “I want to know why the furnace took so much from me while you walked out stronger.”
Yan leaned against the table. “The art gives the furnace power by consuming the practitioner’s remaining life. For me, that part turns into vitality instead.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t make the rule.”
Lian turned her hand over. Her fingers still shook, though less than yesterday. “It’s a strange answer, but at least it’s an answer.”
Bo looked up. “Can I learn it when I’m grown?”
“Not unless you understand exactly what it costs,” Yan said. “And it would still take your life.”
