The fever set in like a brushfire in dry grass.
Within thirty minutes of completing Phase One, Lin Ke’s internal core heat spiked to a dangerous one hundred and four point five degrees Fahrenheit. His glassy glass spirit veins began to whistle with sound deep ring. It shook against swollen muscle tissue like guitar strings under too much tension.
Systemic inflammation was the bane of tight-limit micro-machining. If his spinal tissues swelled by even half a tiny fraction of an inch, the Ren-Du tracking data channels would pinch shut before Phase Two could even begin.
Lin Ke lay flat on his stomach across the wooden bench, his jaw clenched against a block of cedar.
Apothecary He worked with brutal, unrushed fury.
He slapped a cold, slimy healing wrap of powdered Deep-Spring Bitter Jade Root across Lin Ke’s blistered lower back. The substance reeked of stale swamp mud and crushed centipedes. But it touched the inflamed skin. Then, an icy blast wave pierced through the muscle layers like freezing liquid poured over bare iron.
Lin Ke groaned into the cedar block, his fingers clawing the edge of the wood until the cedar splintered under his nails.
“Keep still, you mule,” Apothecary He grunted, shoving Lin Ke’s shoulders flat against the timber.
