Within the cocoon chamber, the two were locked in an intimate embrace, their lips intertwined as if they were lovers.
It should have been a tender, passionate moment, but in this eerie setting, everything felt like an illusion—fragile and fleeting.
Xiao Chenyuan felt something being drawn out of him, an intangible essence slipping away. The cold fragrance of iris blossoms lingered on his lips, infiltrating his senses. Following it came a piercing chill, one so frigid it seeped into his very bones.
Though he had endured ten years of sinister energy gnawing at his life, a constant deathly wind chilling his marrow, this icy force rendered those past torments insignificant.
The chill resembled thorn-covered vines, coiling around his soul, binding and constricting, entwining them in an unbreakable pact.
