The first thing Yang An saw was a burning bonfire. The fire itself hadn't changed much, except that its once-gray flames were no longer pure.
Fu Ming stood beside the bonfire, but he was no longer himself.
The world seemed to have grown hazy, as if a thin layer of fog had been draped over Yang An's eyes.
Fu Ming appeared somewhat blurry. His face hadn't changed, but his body had taken on a different form.
It was as if black flowers were blooming all over his body, from head to toe.
These flowers bloomed and closed as if breathing, but they were actually composed of countless fine, black filaments.
He stood there as if being corroded by these things. Even his gaze, as he looked at Yang An, held a hint of something wrong.
Then, a thumb-sized, dark red flame suddenly appeared on his forehead.
The familiar firelight illuminated him, and his form grew clearer. He still retained his altered appearance, but clarity had returned to his eyes.
