85: Chapter 85 Lao Tzu's fire will not be used for human sacrifice.

The wind of the snowfield whipped up swirling ashes; the white breath Chen Fan exhaled rose half a foot before being scattered away.

He squatted before the kindling stele, and the faint blue flame suddenly solidified strangely, no longer flickering with the cold wind.

When the second name appeared on the stele's surface, he ground his molars until they clicked—the words 'Little Ma' seemed etched by a red-hot iron pen, the edges of the strokes still scorched black.

That was the newcomer who had been pinned to the sacrificial pillar by Crimson Nightmare three days ago in the Molten Core dungeon.

The boy had clutched half a roasted sweet potato, saying he wanted to save money for his sister's medical treatment. By the time Chen Fan rushed forward, the chains had already pierced his shoulder blades.

At this moment, the name on the stele was fainter than the writing for 'Blue Ash,' like ink washed by rainwater, ready to be swept away by the wind at any moment.

"Little Fan?" Su Shuang placed her hand on his shoulder, carrying the unique warmth of Fox Fire.

She had squatted down at some unknown time, her fingertip gently stroking the shallow mark around the name 'Little Ma.' "The temperature is wrong."

Only then did Chen Fan notice that the fingertip he touched the stele with was burning hot—not the scorching heat of earth fire, but as if something was desperately drilling into his body—like someone gripping his nerves, repeatedly shouting, "Remember me."

The system notification suddenly exploded in his mind, making his temples throb: [Unregistered wandering soul detected, triggering a Critical Hit Recall—Experience +2000%, Skill Fragment obtained: "Kindling Resonance" (Passive: Perceive the Will of the Sacrificed)].

Fragmented images flashed before Chen Fan's eyes: Little Ma tilted his head and smiled on the sacrificial pillar, his blood sizzling as it dripped into the brazier; before lighting the fire stele, Blue Ash stuffed half a heart-protecting mirror into his hand, saying, "Keep this for me."

"This stele isn't stone," Su Shuang's voice was as light as a sigh.

Her Fox Fire faded from warm gold to moon-white. Her fingertip traced a thin line on the stele's surface, revealing the dark red patterns underneath. "It's solidified resentment and stubborn obsession.

When Blue Ash spat out his last mouthful of blood, I smelled..." She suddenly paused, her Adam's apple bobbing, "I smelled the scent in the blood of my clansmen right before they were erased by the system."

A muffled tremor, like subterranean thunder, shook the ground. Just as Chen Fan was about to help Su Shuang up, Stone Throat's voice seeped out from the rock crevice by their feet.

The sound was like sandpaper grinding against bronze, carrying the unique hum of the earth's veins: "Blue Ash's last words were—'Fire isn't for burning people; it's for illuminating the path... See the sky outside for me.'"

Chen Fan's fingernails dug deeply into his palm.

The flame of the kindling stele suddenly shot up three feet with a 'boom,' churning crimson-gold within the faint blue, casting his shadow onto the snow like an unquenchable lump of charcoal.

He could hear his own heartbeat drowning out the wind—when Crimson Nightmare extracted Blue Ash's three souls in the Molten Core Cave, his eyes were still fixed on the fire stele; before Little Ma died, his finger was constantly pointing at the earth core flame marrow pendant on Chen Fan's waist.

"I'll try," he suddenly sat cross-legged, placing the earth core flame marrow on his knee.

In the system status bar, the progress bar for "Critical Hit Prediction" was slowly climbing—this was a new function he had unlocked after the Battle of the Molten Core; previously, it could only be triggered randomly for a multiplier, but now he had to try and control the attribute proactively.

During the first attempt, he silently recited "Frost Devour," but the result was a crimson Flame Burst exploding from his palm, scorching half the snowfield; when he tried to use "Flame Burst" the second time, he froze his left ankle; the third time...

Su Shuang suddenly reached out and pressed down on his wrist: "Don't force it." Her breath brushed past his ear, three long and one short, exactly the same rhythm as when they dodged falling rocks in the Molten Core passage. "Try following my heartbeat."

Chen Fan closed his eyes.

The foreman's instruction from the construction site suddenly surfaced—"Strength in the waist, power in the shoulder"—back then, when carrying cement beams, he had to listen clearly to the rhythm of his coworkers shouting the chant before he could exert his strength at the same point.

Now, he treated the Critical Hit as the gathering of power before a punch, feeling Su Shuang's heartbeat like a small drum, tapping against the back of his neck; he felt the flame marrow burning hot in his palm, a pain somewhat similar to the blisters rubbed raw from moving bricks back then.

The seventh time. He softly said in his heart: "Frost."

A snowflake froze the moment it drifted before his eyes.

An ice crystal bloomed at his fingertip, like a transparent flower, with even the patterns on the petals clearly visible.

The system notification this time carried a hint of excitement: [Bloodline Resonance Prediction successful, Cooldown reduced to 25 minutes].

He tried "Flame" again. As his right fist shot out, a crimson-gold fist wind rose in the air, kicking up the snow pile ten meters away to dance wildly.

Su Shuang smiled, and the moon-white Fox Fire turned back to warm gold: "You're getting the hang of it."

Before her voice faded, the kindling stele suddenly shook violently.

Chen Fan stumbled, steadying himself against the stele, only to see another line of bloody characters emerging beneath "Little Ma": "The next one is you."

A muffled sound of tearing rock strata came from underground. When the Molten Eye opened this time, it projected not an image of the Life Recording Division, but a star chart—seven tall towers corresponding to the Big Dipper, and on the top of the brightest tower, written in scarlet cinnabar, were the words "Chen Fan · To Be Erased."

"They are altering the fate configuration," Su Shuang's nails dug into his arm with enough force to almost break the skin, "Not erasing, but tampering.

Look at the lines on the star chart..." She pointed at the golden lines connecting the tall towers, "The destiny that should have connected to the 'Rebels' is now being diverted to the 'New Divine Throne.'"

Chen Fan's temples throbbed.

He suddenly stood up and kicked over the half-human-tall boulder at his feet.

The critical hit system roared in his mind. This time, he didn't control the attribute, directly unleashing [Flame Burst]—crimson-gold flames wrapped in molten slag exploded, melting the boulder into dark red iron water.

"You scratch names, I'll carve names; you tamper with fate, I'll smash the book of fate." He tore off a corner of his robe, using the fire of the flame marrow to write "Blue Ash" and "Little Ma" on the cloth. The writing was scorched black by the flames. "I don't worship gods, nor do I want to be one, but—" He tied the corner of the cloth to the top of the kindling stele. In the wind and snow, the scorched cloth flapped loudly. "Whoever touches the people I remember, I will make their tower collapse first."

In the distance, in the direction of the Starlight Tower, a dark shadow quietly ascended.

Chen Fan narrowed his eyes. The shadow resembled a kite being pulled by a string, yet it flew higher than any bird.

Su Shuang's Fox Fire suddenly flickered violently, and she grabbed his wrist: "It's... it's The Fate Official from the Life Recording Division.

They heard."

"Good that they heard," Chen Fan tugged at the piece of cloth tied to the stele, the firelight making his eyes shine.

The snow stopped in the latter half of the night.

As dawn first appeared, a thin layer of ice had formed in front of the kindling stele.

Chen Fan dozed off wrapped in Su Shuang's Fox Fire cloak, vaguely hearing faint rustling sounds.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the names on the stele moving—"Blue Ash" had moved above "Little Ma," and the name "Wang Iron Pillar" (the coworker who said he wanted to buy a piano for his daughter) had also appeared at some unknown time, the strokes crooked, as if drawn by a child with a twig in the snow.

The scorched cloth at the very top was weighed down by ice beads, but new writing was seeping out from beneath the ice surface, slowly crawling up the stele.

Chen Fan reached out and touched the ice surface; what he felt from his fingertip was not cold, but warmth—as if someone, through the layer of ice, was gently holding his hand.