Two weeks later.
Jayden awoke before the bell.
His body still ached from yesterday's training, but the pain no longer felt like punishment — it felt like growth. The kind you earned. The kind that meant something.
He rolled off the mat, splashed his face with cold water from the stone basin, and stared at his reflection. His features were sharper now. His eyes clearer. Even the way he stood was different — shoulders balanced, spine aligned, breath steady.
This was not the same street-smart kid who'd been getting into alley fights without knowing why.
This was a disciple now.
Lian waited at the training yard as usual, her short hair tied back, already halfway through her movement drills.
She paused when she saw him and smirked. "Late."
Jayden arched a brow. "I'm five minutes early."
She threw him a wooden training sword. "Exactly. Late."
Jayden grinned and caught it, settling into the stance Shen had drilled into him a hundred times.
They began to spar.
Wood clacked against wood in the morning light, sharp and fast, a dance of timing and instinct. Jayden moved with more precision than ever before — not perfect, not even close, but his reactions were sharper, and he was beginning to anticipate her movements.
Still, Lian was better.
She swept his legs from under him, kicked the sword from his grip, and had her blade at his throat in a blink.
He groaned and lay back on the stone floor, catching his breath. "You fight like a tiger with something to prove."
She gave a faint smirk and offered her hand. "You talk like a student with something to learn."
He took it, pulling himself up. "I'll beat you one day."
"Not today," she said, turning toward the inner sanctum. "Master Shen wants to see you."
Jayden's eyes narrowed. Shen rarely summoned them outside scheduled training. Something was off.
The chamber was lit with incense and a single beam of sunlight piercing the high ceiling. Shen knelt in meditation, his eyes closed, a small scroll in his hands.
Jayden bowed low. "Master."
Shen didn't open his eyes. "You've done well. Opened your first Gate. Forged your first pill. Learned the breath of the dragon."
Jayden waited, heart thudding.
Shen continued. "But now… the shadows stir."
He handed Jayden the scroll.
It was sealed with crimson wax marked by a fang symbol.
Jayden frowned. "What is this?"
"An emblem of the Crimson Fangs," Shen said. "A rogue martial clan. Once noble. Now corrupted by greed, violence, and forbidden techniques. They've resurfaced."
Jayden unrolled the scroll. Inside was a name.
"Kellan Cross."
His blood froze.
"My father?"
Shen nodded gravely. "They claim he's alive. Held captive. Somewhere in the ruins of the old Jade Metro district."
Jayden's breath caught in his throat. "We have to go—"
Shen raised a hand. "We will not act blindly. The Fangs lie as easily as they kill. This could be bait."
Jayden clenched his fists. "I don't care. If there's even a chance—"
Shen's tone was calm, but unyielding. "Then you must prove you are ready."
He stood and beckoned Jayden forward.
"I have taught you techniques. But now you must earn the Essence of Flame — the god-tier chi fire your father once wielded. Only with it will your alchemy and cultivation rise to the next realm."
Jayden's eyes narrowed. "Where do I get it?"
"Not where," Shen said. "Who."
The next day, Jayden left the temple under cloak and shadow.
Lian insisted on coming, of course.
"I'm not letting you run off to fight a corrupted clan on your own," she said, adjusting the strap on her shoulder bag. "Besides, I owe the Fangs."
Jayden glanced at her. "Why?"
"They burned my old sect to ash when I was eight."
He said nothing. Just nodded. They moved together now, unspoken trust building between each step.
Their path took them deep into the underbelly of the city — a world beneath the world.
Old power stations. Abandoned train lines. Forgotten shelters. Places the government no longer remembered… but the martial world never forgot.
They reached the Sunken Arena by nightfall.
It was hidden beneath a collapsed overpass — a crumbling colosseum of stone and steel, lit by torchlight and neon glyphs. Hundreds of martial artists trained, fought, gambled, and honed their skills here. Fist fights broke out over everything from honor to spilled soup.
Jayden scanned the crowd. "Who are we looking for?"
Lian pointed toward a circle of fighters gathered around a blazing furnace.
"The Flame Widow."
Jayden stared.
At the center stood a woman cloaked in red silk, tattoos of phoenixes and serpents winding up her arms. Her eyes glowed faintly with heat, and when she moved, flames trailed behind her.
"She guards the god-tier flame," Lian whispered. "No one's ever taken it from her."
Jayden stepped forward.
"I want to challenge you," he said.
The arena went quiet.
The Flame Widow turned to him, studying his face. "You're young."
"I'm strong."
Her smile was like a blade. "I don't care about strength. I care about fire."
Jayden's hands lit with chi flame — small, unrefined, but real.
She narrowed her eyes. "You want my flame? You must take it. In combat."
Jayden nodded. "Name the terms."
"If you lose — your flame becomes mine. If you win — the Phoenix Flame is yours."
The crowd roared in approval.
Jayden stepped into the ring.
The fight began with a burst of heat.
The Widow struck first, launching flame-imbued strikes that cracked the arena stone. Jayden dodged, barely avoiding a fist that would've burned through steel.
He countered with a Dragon Spiral kick — Shen's second form — but she caught it and hurled him into the wall.
Pain exploded in his ribs.
But he got up.
Again.
And again.
Each strike, each dodge, each breath — Jayden began to see her rhythm. The way her flame surged before she punched. The pause between her breath and her footwork.
He stopped trying to overpower her.
He flowed.
Waited.
Drew her in.
And at the perfect moment, he used the Whispering Ember technique — Shen's elusive fifth form — and struck her inner wrist with a burst of reversed chi.
She staggered.
Her flame flickered.
Jayden stepped in, landed a fist to her gut, and swept her legs out beneath her.
She fell — flame extinguished.
The arena was silent.
Then exploded in cheers.
The Widow rose slowly, clutching her ribs, but smiling.
"You've got it," she said. "Your fire isn't wild anymore. It listens to you."
Jayden helped her up.
She handed him a scroll — bound in phoenix feathers, sealed with molten wax.
"The Phoenix Flame is now yours," she said. "Use it wisely. Or it will consume you."
That night, Jayden and Lian camped beneath a bridge, watching the city lights ripple across the water.
He unsealed the scroll.
Inside was a diagram of breathing techniques, cultivation rotations, and flame-fusion methods unlike anything Shen had taught him. This wasn't just a tool for battle.
It was the key to refining god-tier pills.
Jayden turned to Lian. "If my father really is with the Crimson Fangs… we're going after him."
She nodded. "And if it's a trap?"
Jayden's eyes burned with resolve.
"Then we spring it — and burn everything they hide behind."