Lu Mingxu's safehouse door exploded inward, wood splinters flying as a Bei construct—fox-shaped, claws like razors—tore through his Zhabei hideout. The rundown apartment, a nest of scavenged tech and flickering LEDs, shook under the beast's roar, its amber eyes locked on Mingxu's tablet, still glowing with Jingran's signal from Pudong's HuoTech vault. Xiwen's orders burned in his mind—Find her, or you're next—but Jingran's survival, clutching the Jade Protocol Core's heart, flipped his game. He'd texted her—Trap's bigger—and now Xiwen's pets were hunting him, proof he'd crossed her.
"Not my day!" Mingxu yelled, diving behind a server rack, his stun baton sparking with hacked runes. The construct lunged, shredding a monitor, and he cursed his Lu clan blood—always a leash, never a shield.
His AI hologram, a glitchy fox patched from HuoTech code, flickered on. "Error: Survival odds—42%," it droned, smirking. "Run or fry, boss."
"Shut it!" Mingxu snapped, firing a rune pulse. The construct staggered, sparks flying, but its tails whipped, smashing his desk. Papers—HuoTech schematics, his old Lu clan warnings—scattered like ash.
Mingxu's glasses fogged with sweat, his mind racing. Jingran's vault win—snagging the Core's heart—meant she was close to Xiwen's ley line prize. His Bund ambush had failed, not because he was sloppy, but because he'd let her slip, her grin—Speedrun this, nerd—hitting a nerve. Years ago, at HuoTech, she'd trusted him, a nobody intern, before Xiwen's spells bound him. Now, Meilin's X video—Jingran's sorcery—had Shanghai calling her a witch, and Mingxu's texts to her were treason, a choice he couldn't unmake.
The construct roared, claws grazing his arm—blood welled, sharp pain grounding him. He rolled, baton blazing, and hit its core, banishing it in a burst of green light. Xiwen's voice lingered: "You can't hide, Mingxu."
"Hide?" he panted, grabbing his tablet. "I'm rewriting your code, witch."
The hologram chirped, "Alert: Jingran's signal—Pudong, moving fast. Xiwen's ley lines spiking."
Mingxu's gut twisted. Jingran was alive, running from the vault, but Xiwen's temple was close—too close. His hack of her wards showed a new construct, five-tailed, a nightmare. Zhao Wenxu's shadow—Suzhou clan, Meilin's ally—loomed too, his cryptic call yesterday echoing: Play smart, Lu, or you're out. Mingxu wasn't Xiwen's dog anymore, but Zhao's leash felt tighter.
He pulled his burner phone, Jingran's number up. Vault's not safe, he'd texted, and the anonymous reply—I see you—wasn't her. Someone else, deeper, maybe his Lu clan elders, watching the Protocol's chaos. His fingers typed: Jingran, head north—Zhabei. I'm here. He hit send, heart pounding, and grabbed a backpack—tech, runes, survival.
The hologram smirked. "Sentiment detected. Odds of betrayal—60%."
Mingxu glared, slinging the pack. "Odds of you crashing—100%. Stay offline."
He hacked his tablet, tracing Jingran's seal—north, near Zhabei's slums, weak but moving. She'd dodged Xiwen's vault beast, but Meilin's latest X post—Huo secrets end tonight—was spiking, a new video ready to drop. Mingxu's lips curled. Meilin was Zhao's puppet, and Zhao was playing Xiwen, but Jingran was the wildcard, her pendant rewriting the rules.
A memory hit, unbidden—HuoTech, years back, Jingran sneaking him coffee during a late hack, laughing, You're not half bad, nerd. Before Xiwen's spells, before the Lu clan's threats. He shook it off, checking his stun baton—runes low, but enough for one fight.
The safehouse's lights flickered, a low hum—ley lines?—vibrating the walls. His tablet pinged, an untraceable text: You run, Lu. You fall. No sender, no emoji, just ice.
Mingxu's breath caught. Not Xiwen—her style was flashier. Zhao? No, too blunt. His clan, maybe, or the Protocol's shadow players—someone tied to the seal's origins. He'd hacked HuoTech's archives once, found fragments: the pendant was a Lu design, meant to guard the Core, not wield it. Jingran's power was his fault, and it burned.
"Enough," he muttered, rigging the safehouse to blow—EMP traps, rune mines. Xiwen's next construct wouldn't find him here. He slipped out, Zhabei's fog swallowing him, Jingran's signal his only guide.
The streets were grim—shuttered shops, flickering neon, stray dogs scattering. Mingxu's arm bled, pain sharpening his focus. He hacked a street cam, catching Jingran's trail—Teng Haoran's shadow beside her, Lanyi's laptop glow. They were close, but Xiwen's ley lines hummed, a trap tightening.
His phone buzzed—Jingran, replying: Zhabei? You'd better not flake. Her snark cut through, and he almost smiled, but another ping hit: Choose, Lu. Her or you.
Mingxu froze, tablet trembling. The Lu clan's voice—had to be—demanding loyalty he'd never given. He typed to Jingran: No flaking. Meet me—old factory, north end. Send.
The fog parted, and a new construct—sleek, three-tailed—materialized, eyes blazing. Mingxu raised his baton, runes sparking. "Round two, Xiwen," he said, grinning grim. "I'm done losing."
Pudong's HuoTech vault was a graveyard of scorched steel as Huo Jingran sprinted up its stairwell, the jade seal's glow dim in her clutch. The five-tailed construct was ash—her runes had worked, barely—but her leg bled, back screamed, and mana drain fogged her like a glitched VR headset. Teng Haoran covered her, proto-gun sparking, his arm bloodied but steady. Shao Lanyi hauled her laptop, the Core's heart data secure, ley lines humming with partial control—Xiwen's temple, next stop.
"Xiwen's throwing boss fights like candy," Jingran panted, hitting the alley outside. "Where's my save point?"
Haoran's eyes scanned the fog, sharp despite pain. "Keep moving, Jingran. Temple's close—she's desperate."
Lanyi snorted, checking her phone. "Desperate? Meilin's new post says you're 'ending HuoTech.' X is eating it—#NotMySister's viral again."
Jingran's grin hid a sting—Guangli's scorn, Qiongyu's silence, Meilin's venom, all too familiar. "Meilin needs a hobby," she muttered, seal pulsing.
Her pendant blared: Jade Whisper alert: Task—Reach Xiwen's temple, disrupt ley line ritual. Core heart unstable—Bei sorcery surging. Success chance: 55%.
"Fifty-five?" Jingran groaned, dodging a crate. "My stats are nerfed to hell!"
Focus, Host. Seal's runes can counter temple wards. North route advised—Zhabei.
"Zhabei," Jingran whispered, Mingxu's text flashing—Meet me, old factory. Her gut screamed trap, but his Bund warning saved her. Ally? Liar? She'd roll the dice.
Lanyi's laptop pinged, a ley line map glowing. "Temple's deep—Pudong, under the grid. But Zhabei's safer—less constructs."
Haoran's gun hummed, catching a shadow. "Mingxu's there. Trust him?"
Jingran's lips curled, fierce. "Trust? Nah. But I'm curious—guy's got layers."
Her phone buzzed—Mingxu: No flaking. Then another, anonymous: I see you, Huo. Closer now.
Her blood chilled, but she laughed, sharp. "Stalkers, constructs, family shade—my dance card's full."
The alley opened to a street, Zhabei's slums ahead—fog, rust, danger. Jingran's seal flared, a memory hitting: HuoTech's vault, years ago, Mingxu tampering, whispering, It's not safe. Her family's sorcery ran deep, and Mingxu knew more than he let on.
Haoran grabbed her arm, steadying her limp. "You're fading, Jingran. Plan?"
She gripped the seal, runes glinting. "Plan? Crash Xiwen's temple, punch Mingxu's answers out, save Shanghai. Easy."
Lanyi snorted, but her phone buzzed—an X post, fresh: Jingran's endgame—HuoTech falls. Meilin's work, no doubt.
Jingran's pendant hummed, ley lines spiking. A new roar echoed—not fox, but something—from Zhabei's fog. She raised the seal, grinning fierce. "Showtime, creeps."