Steel clashed against spirit-forged steel.Mei’s sword blazed white as it met Wei Lian’s crimson blade. Sparks flew. Mei slid back across the wet stones, feet braced, breath sharp. Her former friend had grown stronger. Colder.Lian advanced without a word, blade spinning in precise arcs. The other two assassins fanned out to flank Mei, but Yan Rui intercepted them, his twin sabers flashing with ghostly light.> “You take one, I’ll take the other,” he said, barely glancing at her.> “No,” Mei snapped. “We finish this together.”The air sang with the hum of clashing qi.But the numbers weren’t on their side.---Jin Longwei crested the final ridge just before the sun vanished behind the marsh hills. His eyes swept over Qing Village, senses stretched wide.> Fire. Movement. Blood.His pace quickened.Shuye followed close behind, though even his breath faltered at the speed Jin demanded.As they neared the village outskirts, a burst of white flame shot into the sky.> Mei.Jin didn’t slow

The foothills south of the Yulan Mountains were steeped in mist and superstition. Few dared to travel these winding paths, where trees whispered and shadows moved without light. But Jin Longwei moved without hesitation. Behind him, Mei, Bai Shuye, Liang Fei, Yan Rui, and Tu Shen made up the strike team—each handpicked for their ability to move silent and strike faster. They wore cloaks of dull gray, their armor wrapped in silencing talismans. Even their breath seemed muffled beneath the thick air. Their target: a Crimson Hand relay fortress built into the side of Mount Heng, once a monastic sanctuary. Now it was a blight. > “They repurposed the old sanctuary bells into signal horns,” Fei whispered, peering through her spyglass. “Two guards per tower. Three patrols on a cycle. They’ve tripled security since the last skirmish.” Tu Shen grunted. “Means we hit a nerve last time.” Jin nodded. “Good. Let them bleed.” Shuye frowned. “We're not just striking, are we?” “No,” Jin said.

Smoke curled over the city of Lanshi, rising like black ribbons against the pale sky.Beneath the looming towers and gilded temples, whispers flowed through the market streets and inner courts:> “Have you heard? The Kirin Heir is alive.”> “They say he burned a fortress to the ground.”> “They say he walks with the ghost of fire.”No one knew where the rumors began, but by dusk, they had reached the ears of the rich and the ruthless.And one name rode their breath like prophecy:Jin Longwei.---In the seedy underbelly of Lanshi, in a gambling den called the Iron Fan, the Kirin Circle struck.Liang Fei and Tu Shen entered first, posing as spice traders. The guards at the door barely noticed the strange symbols sewn into the hems of their sleeves—or the strange glint in Tu Shen’s satchel.Inside, the smoke was thick with opium and lies. Card tables buzzed, and silver changed hands faster than knives. At the far end of the hall sat Vulture Xian, a Crimson Hand quartermaster and slaver

The wind howled across the snow-dusted plains of the Frostspire Monastery, high in the northern reaches. Nestled in a jagged cliff face, the monastery had once trained scholars, spirit tacticians, and soul-keepers of the Empire.Now, it was silent.Abandoned.At least, that's what the world believed.Jin Longwei knew better.> “He’s here,” Jin murmured, standing before the ancient gate. “He never left.”Fei frowned. “You sure about this? After what he—”> “I need answers,” Jin said. “Even if they come from a traitor.”---They passed through broken gates and crumbling stone archways. Monks’ robes still hung on rusting hooks. Prayer bells had fallen silent, yet the faint scent of sandalwood lingered—as if the mountain still remembered its sacred duty.In the inner sanctum, a lone figure meditated beside the altar.Hair long, streaked with silver.Robes dark, embroidered with faded Kirin gold.Jin stopped ten paces away. “Lu Yun.”The man didn’t move.> “It’s been a long time, Longwei.”

Mount Sūnhai loomed above the world like the jagged spine of a forgotten dragon, cracked and burning with cold fire. As the Kirin Circle approached its base, the air grew thin, laced with ancient incense and the copper taste of blood-writ spells.Jin paused beneath a crumbling archway etched with runes in a forgotten dialect—old Kirinic script used only in times of war.> “This used to be a temple,” he murmured. “Before it was a prison.”Fei nodded beside him. “Then we walk where gods were once chained.”Behind them, Lu Yun adjusted the old Kirin crest on his robe. He hadn’t worn it since the fall. Now it shimmered faintly, reacting to the mountain.> “The Flame recognizes its own,” he muttered. “It remembers who we were… and what we failed to protect.”---The narrow path spiraled up the mountain, flanked by cursed shrines and guardian statues cracked from within. Each step forward brought the Circle closer to a heartbeat—slow, massive, buried deep in the mountain’s core.Shuye whisp