Han Yu blinked.
"...So, it's a metaphorical poison? Like killing intent? Or maybe even soul resonance? Perhaps even a qi skill imbued into this?"
If that was true, then maybe he didn't need real poison at all. Maybe he just needed a concentrated emotional intent—rage, hate, sorrow—something powerful enough to coat the Soul Qi with a "venomous" edge.
He sat down and concentrated again, recalling the feeling he had when he lost control during cultivation, when anger or desperation sharpened his soul. Then he shaped the Soul Qi around his finger again—but this time, he filled it with intent.
A cutting, twisting kind of will. Not to paralyze, not to heal—but to wound.
He jabbed it at a blank scroll laid in front of him.
The scroll twitched. The ink upon it shimmered, then cracked as if seared from the inside.
Han Yu leaned back, eyes wide.
"No poison. Just intent."
That changed everything.
