The only thing in Hua Jing's mind as she stepped into the wild field was a single thought: I need that antidote.
Everything else—her aching limbs, the hour of the day, the weight of the world—faded behind the sharp, unshakable urgency pounding inside her.
Zhao Yan needs me.
It didn't matter that noon had passed.
It didn't matter that her body still bore the exhaustion of days without sleep.
It didn't even matter that she had no idea what the hell a Blackroot Lotus even looked like.
The old man had pointed down the slope, past the stream and into the trees.
So she went.
The field stretched like a sea of chaos. Grass up to her knees. Thornbushes snaking around every step. Plants in every shade of green and brown tangled together like they were in battle. The sun above had begun its slow descent, washing everything in a warm, golden haze.
Still, she searched.
