The deaf man rubbed his chin and muttered:
"Back then, I made the heart but skipped the heart membrane. Guess it's come back to bite me. Damn. Just goes to show - best swimmers still drown in shallow water."
The heart membrane - the sixth organ hidden within the five - also known as the Heart's Keeper, isn't usually counted among the main viscera. Since it's an extension of the heart, it never gets its own place in the charts of the body.
A little over a month ago, when the deaf blacksmith forged the iron heart for Lạc Trần, he had deliberately left the heart membrane out.
In his calculations, the membrane's role in shielding the heart meant it had to be made exceptionally solid, almost impenetrable. But that kind of reinforcement came with weight - so much weight, in fact, that it could tear all of Lạc Trần's blood vessels apart.
So the blacksmith decided to let the boy grow accustomed to the new heart first, then wait a month or two before adding the heart membrane as a final layer.
The silent maiden gave the deaf man a pat on the shoulder and wrote.
"Not your fault. Who would've thought that the Cloudspike Sect would go that far?"
"It's madness," the deaf man spat. "The kid already got his heart ripped out, exiled to Dry Sea, and they still wouldn't leave him be. Even used the Duskhollow Flame on him. That's not just revenge - that's scorched earth."
"Want to go out and kill them for fun?"
"The village chief would never allow it."
He shook his head and sighed.
There was something else he didn't say out loud.
They weren't ordinary people. Each one of them had a reputation that stretched across the four continents - and not in a good way. If they stayed out of it, Lạc Trần would only have to deal with Cloudspike Sect. But if word got out about their connection to the boy, he could easily end up with the entire world as his enemy.
That silence was partly because of a rule the village chief had made: never dig into each other's pasts.
The silent maiden sighed as well, then asked:
"Is there any way to remove the Duskhollow Flame's seed?"
"If it were just any celestial fire seed, maybe. But this is Duskhollow. It has no form, no substance - not flesh, not chi. Once it latches onto someone, it won't leave unless it burns away every last trace of life inside them."
"So we're just supposed to stand here and watch?"
"What else can we do?"
Since the moment that cursed fire struck his iron heart, Lạc Trần had been unconscious.
Suddenly, his body arched violently - arms and legs braced against the floor, his stomach tightened, his entire form bowing like a drawn bow. His eyes flew open, but only whites showed. His iron heart thumped once - then exploded with a loud crack.
Duskhollow's flames burst from his chest, rocketing up to the ceiling. A gaping hole had torn through his heart, jagged iron blades sticking out like a fan of knives.
A gray flame danced in the room, circling the air as if parading its victory before the deaf blacksmith and the silent maiden.
Celestial fires were sentient. Some awoke them later in life, other were born with a will of their own.
And now, with Duskhollow rising, it was clear - the blacksmith's plan had failed.
The deaf man stared up at the flame, his fist tightening.
The silent maiden's embroidery needle shot out like a silver streak, piercing straight through the Duskhollow Flame's dancing trail. Even so, she could only stamp her foot and bite her lip in frustration.
Celestial fire cannot be extinguished. Destroying one wisp means nothing. It will return.
The deaf man let out a heavy breath, sat down, and started channeling chi to keep Lạc Trần's blood flowing - just like the village chief had once shown him.
"The way he is now, he won't survive the journey home. All I can do is keep his heart beating for as long as I can. Madame Mute... go fetch the cripple and the butcher."
"Yes! The cripple! His speed is unmatched. If he can run back to the village and bring the chief, maybe - just maybe - there's hope!"
The silent maiden rushed out without a moment's delay.
---The separator line moonwalk into the spot-light---
But the greater the hope, the deeper the disappointment.
After hearing the full story, the cripple only shook his head, helpless.
"Any other time, I'd try. But right now it's the Dry Sea market day. The space outside's a chaotic mess. Without a proper chi-powered carriage, I'll be dead before I crawl halfway there."
"There's still a chance," the silent maiden insisted.
"Come on, Madame Mute! My life counts too, you know?"
He clutched his leg, face twisted like he'd just eaten raw chili.
The butcher, silent until now, stood up and looked at the deaf man.
"There's one more thing we could try. But it depends on whether the deaf one's willing to give up his precious."
"Whatever it is, I'll repay it. Save him," the silent maiden wrote solemnly.
The deaf man seemed to know exactly what the butcher meant. His brows lifted. He pulled his hand back from Lạc Trần's wrist. The butcher quickly stepped in, grasping the boy's pulse, using his chi to keep the blood circulating.
The blacksmith crossed his legs, restoring his own chi as he asked:
"It's not that I'm clinging to worldly goods. But are you sure it'll work, one-arm?"
When the butcher didn't answer, the deaf man pressed:
"One Duskhollow seed already cracked his heart. If I add my own celestial fire to it, his whole soul might burn to ashes - no reincarnation, no next life."
The silent maiden winced. That kind of fate - destruction of both form and spirit - was beyond cruel.
It wasn't that she had any deep affection for Lạc Trần. At most, they were just neighbors. She didn't dislike the boy, that was all.
But her anxiety came from her nature.
Among the villagers of the village of Sickos, no one had a stronger sense of responsibility than Madame Mute.
She blamed herself for Lạc Trần's suffering. She believed it was her carelessness that let Trình Viễn Chí land the sneak attack. And now, she felt it was her duty to save him, no matter the cost.
The butcher said:
"I can't guarantee it. But I once saw someone use fire... to fight fire. And it worked. His cultivation even advanced afterward."
"Who?" asked the blacksmith.
"The madman himself. One time he overheated a batch of medicine. Split the flame in two - used one to suppress the other. Later, that moment of chaos led him to grasp the principle of 'extremes reverse' - yin gives birth to yang. His poison arts and healing both broke new ground."
"Him, huh?" the deaf man said.
There was no one in the village he admired more than the mad doctor - not even the chief.
The chief was strong, sure. But the madman? He was a genius. His brilliance could tie your tongue in knots.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" the cripple piped up.
The deaf man scratched his ear and smirked.
"Cripple, weren't you just playing dead? Now you're the loudest one here. Aren't you afraid Madame Mute might remember and send you running back to the village after all?"
"Perish the thought! Madame Mute's a goddess of compassion. She wouldn't let her poor little brother here march off to his doom. Right, sister?"
He leaned against the wall, blinking at her like a child begging forgiveness.
She looked at him, face twitching, and scribbled:
"Who taught you that?"
"Mr. Onion!"
"Don't do it again. Never do it again!"
"Alright, alright! I'll listen to you, sister."
…
While the cripple and the silent maiden exchanged banter, the deaf man began.
His chi had recovered. He formed a seal with one hand, held up a blackened pan with the other, and chanted something low and ancient. The sounds were foreign, impossible for any ordinary human throat to produce. It was a language not born of any of the four continents.
A golden flame slowly floated up from the pan, hanging in the air before him.
Celestial fires don't speak. But the warmth they emit carries feeling.
Earlier, Duskhollow had radiated smugness - taunting the blacksmith and the maiden.
Now, this golden flame sent out a very different message: longing, sorrow, farewell.
The deaf man exhaled.
"There exists a celestial fire called Everchanging Ember. It is ever-shifting - hot and cold, hard and soft. To be chosen by such a flame is a blessing earned over many lifetimes. But today, I - this deaf fool - must part with it to save a life. Only a celestials fire can tame another. I mean no disrespect to the Everchanging Ember. Let Heaven and Earth bear witness."
With that, he spat a mouthful of blood toward the flame.
The golden fire shimmered with emotion - a companion of many years, now forced to say goodbye. Even the cripple, the maiden, and the butcher could feel the invisible bonds between the blacksmith and Everchanging Ember snapping, one after another.
The deaf man sat straight, knees together. Then bowed low - palms, forehead, knees all touching the ground.
"Farewell, Celestial Fire."
The golden flame curled into itself, then transformed into a small golden fish.
It flicked its tail once, and dove into Lạc Trần's iron heart.
The blacksmith let out a breath, raised his head, and murmured:
"Goodbye, old friend."