Dawn had yet to reach the canyon's lip when Li Shen emerged from the depths of the Vermilion Hollow.
Behind him, the ruins whispered and crackled softly, the last flickers of phoenix-fire receding into stillness. He walked slowly, as if burdened—not by weight, but by revelation. The Phoenix Manuscript, still sealed in its crystal case, pulsed faintly at his side like a heartbeat. It was warm even in the open air, and he could feel its presence reaching out to his qi, as if whispering truths long buried beneath time and ash.
He made camp in a secluded alcove beside a steaming hot spring—a remnant of the volcano's dormant breath. The trees here had golden leaves and pale, scorched bark. He hung the crystal scroll-case between two stones, allowing it to bathe in the rising heat. Then he sat cross-legged, placing the Whispering Blade across his lap.
Breathing deep, he closed his eyes.
And opened the first gate of his inner sea.
The Fire Within
Qi surged.
But this was not the wind-like, fluid energy of the Hollow Wind Style. This was fire—wild, furious, beautiful. It coursed through his meridians in molten threads, seeking cracks, testing his limits. It wanted freedom. It wanted to burn.
Li Shen held firm.
For hours, he meditated in stillness, drawing in the fire but not letting it consume him. The Manuscript's presence was both teacher and trial, unveiling techniques in fragmented flashes. Some came as spoken mantras echoing in his mind; others were movements inscribed into his memory like hot brands:
• The Ember Sutra of the First Cycle—a breathing method that turned inner fire into a spiritual forge, purifying the soul and body with each inhalation.
• Crimson Step Without Shadow—a footwork technique allowing one to move in bursts like sparks across dry leaves, vanishing and reappearing in streaks of flame.
• Molten Veil Palm—a defensive art that formed a radiant shroud of heat to deflect blades, arrows, and even hostile qi.
But each gift came with pain.
As night fell and the second moon rose over the canyon, Li Shen's skin steamed with heat. His robes clung to his body, and his lips cracked from dryness. Small blisters rose along his forearms as the Manuscript's energy tested him again and again. At one point, his body locked in seizure, and the fire nearly broke through uncontrolled.
But he remembered the vision.
He remembered the High Matron's final words—We rise as phoenixes, unbound.
He would not fail her legacy.
Days in the Forge
Li Shen remained in seclusion for seven days.
Each day was a trial, a duel between discipline and passion. The Ember Sutra taught not merely power, but control—the ability to wield destructive flame without letting it consume everything it touched.
On the fourth day, he summoned his inner flame into a visible plume that danced across his hands. On the fifth, he fused the Crimson Step into a series of shadow-dodging movements that made even his own footsteps vanish from sand and stone. By the sixth day, he carved a circle of scorched earth with the Molten Veil, warding off falling stones from a sudden rockslide without drawing his blade.
But power was never without cost.
His dreams became troubled, filled with burning cities, screaming echoes, and phoenixes shrieking in sorrow. And always—at the edge of each dream—he saw her: the High Matron, her crown of fire dimming, her eyes searching his.
Will you repeat our sins, child of wind? Or will you become something new?
On the seventh day, the crystal scroll dimmed. The first cycle was complete.
Li Shen stood at the edge of the Vermilion Hollow, no longer the same man who had entered.
His breathing was fire. His pulse was rhythm. His blade—though yet sheathed—was a flame waiting to sing.
Interrupted Rebirth
He descended from Mount Xianlu by the eastern cliffs, his path toward the Sapphire Reach interrupted only by a haze of dust on the horizon.
Bandits?
No. Worse.
As he approached the canyon's pass, Li Shen's keen senses flared. Heat still clung to his body, but now the air grew cold. A wrongness crept in—qi that flowed backward, heavy with decay.
Then he saw them: cloaked figures in dark bronze armor, their faces hidden beneath veils of smoke. Each bore the sigil of a coiled serpent with a burning eye—the Coil of Obsidian, an ancient assassins' order thought long disbanded.
And at their center stood a tall woman in silver-and-sable robes, a lantern blade in each hand. Her hair was stark white, her eyes a void without reflection.
"Li Shen," she called, her voice like glass scraping metal. "By the decree of the Hollow Council, you are forbidden from claiming the Manuscript. It belongs to the Ashen Pact now."
Li Shen stepped forward, his hand resting lightly on the Whispering Blade. "Then come take it."
Without another word, the air exploded.
Battle at the Broken Rise
The assassins moved like ghosts—silent, coordinated, each step fueled by poisoned qi. But Li Shen was faster. He vanished in a flicker of sparks, reappearing mid-leap above their front line. Crimson Step. His blade drew, a flash of silver and flame.
One cut. Two bodies fell.
Molten Veil flared to life around him, catching a dozen thrown daggers mid-flight. He spun, the heat of his movements igniting the dry grass underfoot. With each breath, his strikes grew stronger, more fluid—each movement a dance of fire and wind.
The woman in silver moved at last.
Her blades glowed black, absorbing light rather than reflecting it. She struck with twin arcs, her movements like falling stars. Li Shen met her head-on, their weapons clashing in an explosion of steam and embers.
"You've studied it!" she hissed. "You've already burned!"
"I've awakened," he corrected.
Their duel raged across the canyon ridge—fire against shadow, speed against deception. Li Shen's left arm was nicked, his blood hissing as it met the heat of his own qi. But he adapted—shifting his stance, recalling the Ember Sutra's mantra: Balance the heat. Know when to burn. Know when to hold.
With a final pivot, he channeled flame into his palm, striking the ground with force.
A ring of fire burst outward, scattering the remaining assassins. The woman stumbled, her robes catching flame. She dropped to a knee, cursing in a forgotten tongue.
Li Shen stood over her.
"You may tell your Ashen Pact," he said, voice low, "that the fire has returned. And this time, it won't be chained."
He turned and vanished into the high cliffs—leaving smoke and ruin in his wake.
To the Sapphire Reach
With the Manuscript sealed once more and his path marked in both fire and blood, Li Shen set his course for the Sapphire Reach, an ancient sea of jade-blue dunes and lost temples. Whispers spoke of another technique hidden there—The Ocean Soul Blade, forged by the Wandering Sea Lord in ages past.
But the fire inside him would not sleep.
And far to the north, in the fortress of the Hollow Council, the eyes of the Ashen Pact opened.
The hunt had begun.