Chapter 15: Bloodline Ignition

“Take it.”

Shen Luolin’s voice came from above, still cold, but as Moyin received the box, he casually brushed off the bits of frost that had gathered on her hair.

His fingertips were burning hot, pausing on Moyin’s icy forehead for less than half a second.

“This thing might look nice, but it’s nowhere near as filling as the fish you caught.” Shen Luolin lifted the fish and said coldly to Ella, “Is your business finished?”

Moyin’s trembling hands accepted the cold iron box. The shattered illusions in her heart, because of Shen Luolin’s barbed defense, strangely blossomed into a faint, bloody sweetness—humble, yet real.

After entering the house, the atmosphere dropped to freezing point.

Ella, knowing her place, stayed outside, saying she would check the wear on the sled.

Shen Luolin closed the door and, expressionless, opened the Supply Box.

He took out a precise metal frame, with several long, graduated needles inserted into it.

It was the Alchemy Blood Collection Needle.

“Come here.”

Shen Luolin’s voice was flat as he unwrapped a single-use needle tip.

Moyin walked over in silence, rolling up her left sleeve without a word.

Her arm was slender and pale, the blue veins beneath her skin clearly visible from long-term malnutrition.

She didn’t ask why, nor did she look afraid.

She simply stared stubbornly out the window.

Through the broken window lattice, she could see Ella’s tall figure standing in the snow.

Shen Luolin’s hand was steady as he pinched Moyin’s forearm, pressing the cold tip of the needle to her vein.

“It might hurt a little.”

Moyin did not respond.

As the needle pierced her skin, she felt only a faint prick.

With the press of Shen Luolin’s finger on the collection device, a drop of bright red blood tinged with a faint golden gleam slid down the tube into the crystal test tube.

Moyin watched as her blood was drawn out, sloshing in the tube like merchandise with a price tag.

She suddenly wanted to laugh.

So, the warmth Master gave her—the blanket, the roasted meat, even the name carved into the stone—had a price.

And she was the price.

She was not only a fugitive, but a Test Subject locked inside a test tube.

“It’s done.”

Shen Luolin withdrew the needle and pressed a clean cotton ball to her wound.

Moyin pulled back her hand, pressing it against the iron box as she did.

She opened the lid, pinched out a sugar-glazed plum, and popped it into her mouth.

It was sweet.

So sweet it was bitter.

So sweet it made her want to cry.

It felt as if what she swallowed was not a candied fruit, but a nail—hammered down to pin shut those laughable, forbidden hopes inside her heart.

“Master.”

She spoke with the plum in her mouth, her voice muffled.

“Is this blood… enough?”

Shen Luolin’s hand paused as he put away the tools. He didn’t look at her, only packed the blood tube into a sealed box.

“It’ll last half a month.”

Moyin nodded and sat back down beside the fireplace, curling up.

After Ella’s departure, the firelight in the Snowfield hut could no longer warm a heart.

That budding illusion of a “home” was crushed completely by the arrival of that woman.

Moyin became very quiet.

She rose before dawn, cleaning the house spotless, chopping the firewood in neat stacks. Every bit of training Shen Luolin assigned, she completed with meticulous care—never complaining, never showing exhaustion.

She just stopped looking at him.

Those silver eyes always lowered, or gazing at the unchanging snowfield outside the window—never landing on him again.

That beautifully packaged box of sugar-glazed plums was placed at her bedside, in the most obvious spot.

Every morning, she would glance at it, then begin a new day of chores and training without expression.

That box was like a silent marker, precisely pointing to the unbridgeable gulf between her and him.

Shen Luolin checked Moyin’s training results.

Her speed and strength had visibly improved, accelerated by the alchemical potion.

“Not bad.”

He gave his habitual assessment—his most efficient method of encouragement.

Yet this time, the expected spark of joy did not appear.

The girl’s body tensed, almost imperceptibly.

She didn’t turn back, her voice squeezed from her throat, light and hoarse.

“Will my performance… be satisfactory to Miss Ella?”

With that sentence, she pierced the fragile equilibrium of their interactions.

Shen Luolin’s words stuck in his throat.

Praise had become evaluation.

Concern had turned into a test.

Looking at her back, for the first time, he felt that this thin girl had built a wall of silence thicker than the northern ice.

At night, the fire in the hearth burned fiercely.

Shen Luolin sat at the table, slowly wiping his tactical dagger with a piece of deerskin.

The sharp blade flickered orange in the firelight, casting shifting shadows across his face.

Moyin curled in the corner, hugging her knees, watching him quietly.

This scene.

Once, this scene had brought her an unprecedented sense of peace.

But now, what haunted her mind was Ella, standing in the snow, calling him “Mr. Luolin” in a familiar, intimate tone.

She subconsciously touched her left arm.

The spot pricked by the needle showed no trace, but the cold from the drawn blood seemed to linger in her veins.

It turned out, every bit of warmth she craved had a price.

Just then, Shen Luolin put down the dagger.

He took from the Supply Box another identical crystal test tube, this one filled with azure liquid.

This was today’s “supply.”

“Drink it.”

His voice was matter-of-fact, devoid of emotion.

“Then practice precise control of Dragonflame. Try to light the candle three meters away.”

Moyin looked up at the potion.

In the firelight, it glimmered with a cold, eerie glow.

In that light, she saw Ella’s high-handed posture, the luxury and unfamiliarity of the Imperial Capital, and a world she could never belong to.

She rose silently, walked over, and took the test tube.

Then, before Shen Luolin’s eyes, she tilted her head back and drank it in one gulp.

The cold liquid slid down her throat, bursting into a scalding current.

She followed the order, walked to the center of the room, stretched out a finger, and closed her eyes.

She tried to gather her spirit, to control the power surging inside her.

But the instant she closed her eyes, the whole world became Ella’s face.

No, not just Ella.

She saw a Shen Luolin she’d never met, dressed in formal attire in the banquet hall of the Imperial Capital, naturally accepting the crystal dish of sugar-glazed plums Ella offered.

Their world was that taste, that brilliance.

And she?

What was she?

Even Shen Luolin’s defense—“This thing might look nice, but it’s nowhere near as filling as the fish you caught.”

Was he protecting her?

No, he was only telling Ella that this “defective product” was still rough, only fit to eat fish, unable to appreciate the Imperial Capital’s refinement.

He was drawing a line!

Humiliation, jealousy, inferiority, resentment—all these emotions mixed with the potion’s raging force and exploded inside her!

The string she used to bind the dragon blood within her snapped!

Boom—!

A muffled blast.

The silver Dragonflame was no longer a docile flame but an out-of-control torrent, bursting from her limbs, her orifices, every inch of skin!

She didn’t even have time to scream before this wild power from her own blood consumed her completely!

Flames soared, and she became a figure writhing in agony within the silver blaze!

Crash—!

Outside, Shen Luolin was handling game when he heard the noise. His expression changed.

He slammed his shoulder into the fragile wooden door; surging silver fire and scorching heat rushed out to meet him.

At the center of the room, that small figure thrashed and rolled in the flames, letting out distorted, fire-scorched screams.

“Moyin!”

Shen Luolin roared, yanking off his heavy Cloak meant to shield against the wind and snow, and threw himself forward!

He wrapped the burning, scalding body in his arms, leaving not the tiniest gap, using his own flesh to block and smother the fire devouring her!

“Don’t be afraid! I’m here!”

The Cloak sizzled and blackened under the Dragonflame, curling and charring rapidly.

The searing heat pierced the fabric, burning his skin with waves of pain.

But he held her even tighter.

As if to knead this trembling, shattered soul back into his bones and blood.

Finally, with its energy spent, the silver fire weakened, then went out.

The air was thick with the stench of burned cloth and charred flesh.

Shen Luolin’s Cloak was now in tatters; his exposed arm was covered in red burns and blisters.

Moyin, in his arms, was burning hot; her clothes singed to shreds.

She shivered, her small face blackened by smoke and streaked with tears, silver eyes utterly empty—hollow after surviving disaster.

“It’s all right… it’s all right now…”

Shen Luolin held her tight, over and over, his burned hand clumsily stroking her back.

He repeated those pale words, trying with the oldest of comforts to pass his warmth and strength into her.

“Waaa—”

The girl in his arms finally broke down at his late, painful comfort and sobbed loudly.

Her wails were sharp, filled with grievance, agony, and despair.

A long time passed before the crying faded.

Moyin, exhausted, fell asleep in his arms.

Only then did Shen Luolin’s reason return, little by little.

He gently laid Moyin on the bed and tucked her in.

Then he stood up, surveying the wrecked house, his brow knotting tightly.

Something was wrong.

He’d seen Moyin’s emotional shifts; the jealousy and grievance of a little girl shouldn’t be enough to trigger such a thorough, self-destructive Bloodline Rampage.

It was more like… more like some external force had magnified her emotions and forcibly awakened her Dragonborn blood!

His gaze finally landed on the floor.

There lay a shattered crystal test tube, a few drops of blue liquid gleaming eerily in the dim light.

Shen Luolin settled the sleeping Moyin, then walked out alone.

The biting cold wind stung his burned arm like needles, sharpening his mind.

He bent and picked up the largest shard of test tube from the snow, lifting it to his nose.

Besides the usual scent of alchemical potion, there was a faint, almost imperceptible… sweet fragrance.

He touched a bit of the residue with his fingertip, tasted it.

The next second, the last traces of warmth vanished from Shen Luolin’s eyes.

“Ella…”

He murmured the name, voice colder than the permafrost of the northern lands.

“You’ve crossed the line.”