In the past, Zhou Jinheng thought that Yi Hui was an unsightly speck of dust in the air, a useless appendage, and he just wanted to lift his sleeves and brush him away. It was only later that he found out that he was the ashes left after the blaze of a prairie fire, the fluffy cluster inhaled into his lungs that was enough to burn his throat and burn his heart. The wound was dripping with blood, the medicine stone was useless, only he could heal it. But he was already dead.