Li An's constitution was terrifyingly resilient. Perhaps it was the years spent being refined as a "medicinal catalyst" in Medicine King Valley, or maybe Ye Shuying's priceless Purifying Pill was truly that miraculous. Combined with the twenty-four-hour spiritual infusion from the glacial jade bed, it took only three days for the demonic blood in his veins to settle completely. He had even developed a strange new tenacity—a jagged, lethal edge tempered by the lingering traces of sword-intent.
By the morning of the third day, Li An had reached his limit for playing the invalid.
His snowy tiger ears stood alert, the fine white fur catching the morning light. The violet shimmer in his pupils had regained its predatory cunning, appearing even more intoxicating now that his spiritual reserves were full. He glanced down at the dark-red bracelet on his left wrist—curled up and playing dead—and smirked. He reached down and gave one of the protruding dragon horns a vicious pinch.
