The heat rising from Wǔ Yán Gǔ was a physical wall, tasting of sulfur and dry ash. High above the jagged rim of the valley, the Green Pine disciples hung in the air, their robes snapping in the updrafts.
"Hold," Lei Ze said. The word was clipped, directed more at the air than the people behind him. He watched the other three sects—the Jīn Yàn, the Bì Yù Zōng, and the Crimson Wine Gate—streak downward like falling stars toward the central ruins.
Hú Yì's jaw was set tight, his eyes fixed on the distant shimmer of gold leaf on a grand temple roof. He didn't wait for a second command. With a sharp kick to his flying sword, he broke formation, diving toward the valley floor.
"Hú Yì, get back!" Lán Tíng shouted.
The descent was interrupted by a streak of white light. A disciple from the Crimson Wine Gate, perched on a distant crag, released a spiritual arrow. It hummed with the high-pitched vibration of lightning Qi, a jagged needle aimed squarely at Hú Yì's exposed back. Hú Yì froze, his sword wobbling as the smell of ozone reached him.
Lei Ze was already moving. He didn't use a sword. He simply stepped into the air, the Tri-Path Core in his gut flaring.
A golden bell-shape, thick and translucent, manifested around him just as the arrow struck. The collision was a dull, heavy thud that vibrated in the teeth of everyone watching. The arrow shattered into harmless sparks against the Vajra Barrier.
"Buddhist?" a voice drifted from the crags, etched with a sudden, sharp caution.
Below them, half-hidden by a basalt pillar, Měi Lín paused. She squinted at the fading golden light in the sky. "Who is that?" she muttered, though her feet kept moving with her Jīn Yàn comrades. The power felt... heavy. Older than the boy looked.
The effort cost Lei Ze. The golden light flickered and died, and the sudden weight of gravity took him. He plummeted. Lán Tíng reacted instantly, her sword dipping into a steep dive, catching him by the waist and pulling him onto the narrow blade.
"I have you," she breathed.
Lei Ze exhaled, his lungs burning. "Thank you."
Lán Tíng didn't smile for long. As they leveled out and landed near the entrance of the ruins, she turned on Hú Yì. The senior was pale, his boots hitting the ash with an unsteady rhythm.
"You're a liability," she snapped. Her hand stayed on her hilt. "If it weren't for Lei Ze, you'd be a scorched stain on the rocks. Follow the orders or stay behind."
Hú Yì looked at the ground, his fingers twitching. He didn't apologize.
"Listen," Lei Ze said, his voice regaining its rasp. "The grand temples are lures. They're built to attract greed. We go right."
He pointed to a structure that looked like a stack of rotting teeth. It was small, the stone grey and crumbling under the weight of centuries. The other sects were already swarming the ornate structures, the sound of breaking doors and shouting echoing through the valley.
"That pile of dust?" Hú Yì grumbled, though he followed. "We're wasting the Hunt on a tomb for beggars."
Mò Zhàn stood on a high ledge, his crimson hair a jarring splash of color against the black volcanic rock. He watched the Green Pine group vanish into the small, dilapidated temple.
"Lei Ze," he mused. The name was a weight his father had been obsessing over for months. He didn't look like a hero. He looked like a boy trying to hide a sun in his pocket.
Behind a nearby column, Měi Lín held her breath. Mò Zhàn is actually hunting him. She knew Mò Zhàn didn't care about the artifacts. He cared about the blood. She let her own group move ahead, sticking to the shadows as Mò Zhàn began his descent toward the small temple.
Inside, the darkness was thick enough to feel. It smelled of stagnant air and cold mineral.
"Stay close," Lei Ze said. He reached out, his hand finding a length of ancient, resin-soaked wood on a wall bracket. He struck it against the stone floor. Sparks bit into the wood, and a sudden, orange light pushed back the gloom.
They moved through a labyrinth of low-ceilinged halls. The stone here wasn't marble; it was volcanic glass, etched with symbols that seemed to writhe in the torchlight.
A door at the end of a long corridor gave way to a hall that made the disciples gasp. Torches mounted on the walls caught fire spontaneously. Suspended by rusted iron chains were four items, pulsing with a low, rhythmic light: Serpent Scale Armor, Flowing Spirit Jade, a Crimson Cloud Talisman, and Silent Step Boots.
"Treasures," a disciple whispered, darting forward.
"Take them," Lei Ze said. "But don't linger."
Hú Yì grabbed a Shadow-Weave Cloth from a side pedestal, his eyes darting around with a frantic, hungry energy. Lán Tíng found a Soul-Warming Pearl, its mid-grade glow reflecting in her eyes. "Lei, look."
Lei Ze nodded, but his eyes were on the floor. He was looking for the circular pavement Jìng Xū had described. He found it in the next chamber—a massive, open space where the walls were riddled with holes like a hive.
In the center sat a circular stone platform. Near its edge, a rectangular block of granite stood waist-high. Lei Ze found the small, red indentation in the stone. He pressed it.
The sound was a grinding of tectonic plates. The circular platform didn't just move; it split, revealing a throat of absolute blackness.
"Wait—" Lei Ze started, but the floor beneath his feet gave way. He vanished into the dark tunnel before Lán Tíng could reach out a hand.
The platform groaned, beginning to reset.
"Lei Ze!" Lán Tíng screamed.
The air in the room suddenly turned cold. A shadow stretched across the threshold of the chamber. Mò Zhàn stepped into the torchlight, his arms crossed over his massive chest. He looked at the group of nineteen, his eyes settling on Hú Yì, who was still admiring his new cloth.
"So," Mò Zhàn said. "The survivor."
He didn't draw a weapon. He simply blurred.
Hú Yì had a second to look up before a fist buried itself in his ribs. The sound of snapping bone was sickeningly clear. Hú Yì was launched across the hall, slamming into the far wall and crumpling into a heap.
"Hú Yì!" Lán Tíng drew her blade. She didn't hesitate, her Qi funneled into a desperate, overhead strike aimed at Mò Zhàn's collarbone.
Mò Zhàn didn't flinch. He raised two fingers. The blade hit them and stopped as if it had struck a mountain. With a casual flick of his wrist, the steel shattered into a dozen shards.
He stepped over the debris, his hand shooting out like a viper. He caught Lán Tíng by the throat, hoisting her off the ground until her toes brushed the air.
"The boy," Mò Zhàn said, his voice a low, vibrating growl. "Where did Lei Ze go?"
Lán Tíng clawed at his wrist, her face turning a bruised purple. She didn't speak. She couldn't.
Mò Zhàn's grip tightened. "I'll ask one more time. Before I start breaking things."
In the tunnel below, the silence was absolute. Lei Ze hit the bottom of the chute, rolling into a crouch. He could feel the Pagoda. It was close. But above him, he felt the resonance of Lán Tíng's soul flickering like a candle in a storm.