Kai woke to the deep, velvet hush before dawn, the cave around him steeped in shadows. The air was sharp with cold. Beside him, Snow lay motionless, his massive white form curled in on itself, the usual proud arch of his neck slack with exhaustion. The wolf’s breath was shallow, his once-gleaming coat now dull as old snow, the icy claws at his paws frosted over unnaturally, as if even his innate ice qi could no longer sustain itself.

  Kai hesitated before pulling away, his fingers lingering in Snow’s thick fur. Normally, the wolf would stir at the slightest shift, his ears flicking, his blue eyes flashing open in silent acknowledgment. But now, he didn’t so much as twitch. The absence of that usual awareness sent a cold spike of fear through Kai’s chest.

  He forced himself to stand, turning away before the sight could paralyze him.

  The remnants of last night’s fire were little more than embers, their faint glow pulsing weakly in the dark. Kai knelt, feeding dry firewood and tinder into the coals, blowing gently until flames licked back to life, their warmth a small but steady comfort. He glanced at Igni, the massive tiger sprawled nearby, his sides rising and falling in deep slumber. Normally, Kai would have roused him to help him start the fire, but today, he let him sleep.

  The water in the pot hissed as it heated, and soon the area filled with the earthy scent of root soup, simple but nourishing. The rhythmic motions of cooking—chopping, stirring, tasting—kept his hands busy, but not his mind.

  Because when he stopped, the thoughts rushed in.

  Snow’s worsening condition. The dreams.

  Those damned dreams.

  They clung to him like frost, leaving behind an ache he couldn’t shake. Fragments of memories that didn’t feel like his own, faces he shouldn’t recognize but did, emotions that lingered long after waking. A deep, unplaceable sorrow, as if he were mourning something—or someone—he couldn’t remember losing.

  His gaze drifted to Gin, sprawled on his back, mouth open mid-snore, one arm flung over his face as if even in sleep he was trying to block out the world. Nearby, the jug of qi-infused wine sat where he’d left it the night before, its contents pulsing with untrapped energy.

  Kai stared at it, torn.

  The wine was potent—stupidly so. Even a sip would flood the meridians with raw qi, enough to jolt a cultivator back from the brink of exhaustion. But that was the problem. Snow wasn’t just exhausted; his qi pathways were drained, brittle. Flooding them now would be like pouring molten metal into a cracked cast.

  It could kill him. Or, it could save him.

  Kai’s fingers twitched toward the jug.

  Then stopped.

  He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. No. Not yet. There had to be another way.

  Kai’s face tightened with worry, his fingers curling into fists against his knees. Just as the weight of his thoughts threatened to crush him, a familiar coolness brushed against his leg—a whisper of shadows coalescing into form.

  Yinying, the little shadow fox, materialized in his lap with a soft poof of inky mist. Her violet eyes, luminous even in the dim light of morning, locked onto his with uncanny understanding. Without hesitation, she planted her tiny front paws on his chest, her three tails fanning out in a silken wave before his face, swaying insistently like willow branches in a breeze. The message was clear:

  "Pet me. Forget your worries for just a moment."

  A weak chuckle escaped Kai despite himself. "Brat," he murmured, but his hands were already moving, sinking into the otherworldly softness of her tails. They were impossibly smooth, like stroking moonlight given form—cool to the touch yet radiating a gentle warmth beneath. Each strand seemed to pulse faintly with shadowy qi, swirling playfully around his fingers as if alive.

  For a fleeting second, the weight on his chest lessened.

  But then his gaze drifted back to Snow’s still form, and the dread returned, heavier than before.

  If only I had proper qi-restorative herbs, he thought, fingers still mechanically combing through Yinying’s fur. Something tailored to his cultivation stage, not these weak weeds or that unstable, overbearing wine—

  A sharp tug on his sleeve snapped him back. Yinying had clamped her teeth on his cuff, her eyes narrowed in reproach. "You’re ignoring me again," her expression seemed to say. When he didn’t immediately respond, she huffed, releasing his sleeve only to bonk her head against his chin—a demand for undivided attention.

  Kai sighed, scratching behind her ears. "Sorry, little troublemaker."

  But his mind wouldn’t quiet.

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  Kai's fingers stilled in Yinying's fur as the dream-memory crystallized in his mind—that strange, sterile room where needles and tubes had connected one life to another.

  "Blood transfusion," he murmured, the foreign words tasting heavy on his tongue.

  In this world, the concept was absurd. Why would anyone pour their own blood into another when plenty of herbs existed that could regenerate large amounts of lost blood for mortals and cultivators alike? Only demonic cultivators played with blood—stealing it, corrupting it, weaving curses through scarlet threads.

  But in that dream-world without qi, without cultivation... it had been necessary. A fragile, mortal solution for fragile, mortal bodies.

  A spark ignited in Kai's chest.

  If blood can be shared... why not qi?

  The simplicity of it struck him like a lightning bolt. Qi transference wasn't unheard of—he'd seen elders pass wisps of energy to juniors during training sessions, heard of dual cultivation partners weaving their energies together in intricate dances. But those were always temporary, the borrowed qi returning to its owner like tidewaters receding.

  No one left their qi behind.

  No one gave it away.

  Because why would you? His nails dug into his palms. When the world overflowed with qi-rich herbs and spirit stones, when every decent healer carried restoration pills—who would sacrifice their own qi to fuel another's?

  But now, staring at Snow's labored breathing, Kai understood with terrible clarity:

  Sometimes, there were no herbs. No pills. No alternatives. Just this.

  Kai exhaled sharply. The risks screamed in his mind—

  Qi wasn't just energy for a cultivator; it was identity. A cultivator's essence carried their meridians' memory, an imprint. Pouring his qi into Snow unchecked could poison the wolf as surely as Gin's wine. Their cultivation bases differed too—human qi channels weren't meant to merge with spirit beasts'.

  But...

  His gaze fell back onto Snow, his form unmoving.

  Kai’s hands trembled as he set Yinying down, her violet eyes wide with concern. The shadow fox let out a soft chirp, her tails flicking uneasily, but she didn’t interfere. She simply watched, a silent sentinel, as Kai approached the great white wolf.

  Snow lay motionless, his breath shallow, his once-gleaming fur dull and lifeless. The sight sent a pang through Kai’s chest. He knelt beside one of his oldest companion, pressing his palm against the wolf’s flank. The warmth beneath his fingers was faint—too faint.

  "Snow," Kai whispered, his voice thick. "I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m going to try something. Please… trust me."

  No response. Not even a flicker of an ear.

  Kai closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He recalled the technique he had used on Lu Bu—qi injection, a method meant to guide, not to give. But this time, it wasn’t just about guiding. It was about replacing what had been lost.

  Slowly, carefully, Kai pushed his own qi into Snow’s meridians. The sensation was strange—like pouring water into an empty vessel he was unfamiliar with, feeling the contours of the wolf’s spiritual pathways as his energy flowed through them.

  He found the source of the problem.

  Snow’s meridians weren’t damaged, but they were empty. His qi wasn’t moving—it had pooled in his dantian, stagnant and sluggish, like a frozen river. Normally, a spirit beast would draw in ambient qi to replenish itself, but here in Zan, the qi was thin, almost nonexistent. Without that external flow, Snow’s own energy had simply… stalled.

  Like a heart that forgot how to beat.

  Kai gritted his teeth. He couldn’t fix the lack of qi in the environment, but he could do the next best thing—jumpstart Snow’s circulation.

  With painstaking precision, he pushed his own qi through Snow’s meridians, forcing movement where there had been none. It was like coaxing a dead engine back to life, spark by spark. His energy wrapped around Snow’s dormant qi, pulling it forward, guiding it through the pathways it should have known by instinct.

  The strain was immediate. Kai’s breath came in short gasps as his own reserves dwindled. Sweat beaded on his brow, his fingers digging into Snow’s fur as if anchoring himself. He could feel the wolf’s spirit resisting at first—foreign qi was not meant to linger in another’s body—but then, slowly, something shifted.

  A spark.

  A pulse.

  Snow’s qi began to move on its own.

  Kai didn’t pull back immediately. He let a fraction of his own qi remain—just enough to sustain the circulation until Snow could fully recover. When he finally withdrew, his vision swam, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. He hadn’t just guided Snow’s qi.

  He had given part of his own.

  When Kai opened his eyes, Snow was looking back at him.

  The wolf’s blue eyes, though still weary, held a clarity that hadn’t been there before. His breathing was deeper, his fur no longer quite so dull. With a weak but deliberate motion, Snow lifted his head and licked Kai’s cheek—a silent thank you.

  Kai’s throat tightened.

  He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt the tears on his face.

  In an instant, he threw his arms around Snow’s neck, burying his face in the wolf’s fur. The relief was overwhelming, a tidal wave crashing through him.

  Snow huffed softly, nuzzling into Kai’s shoulder. He was still weak, still recovering—but he was alive.

  And for now, that was enough.

  The memory of Mike—that man from another world, with his sterile white rooms and impossible medicines—flashed in Kai’s mind. A man who had never cultivated a day in his life, yet whose wisdom had crossed the boundaries of reality itself. If Kai could have reached through the veil of sleep, he would have clasped that stranger’s hand and thanked him.