Bei Xiwen's altar shattered under her rune-charged fist, jade fragments exploding across her Pudong temple's stone floor like a broken galaxy. The subterranean sanctum, buried beneath Shanghai's neon spires, pulsed with chaotic ley line energy, its fox sigils flickering as her ritual teetered on collapse. Huo Jingran was coming—her jade seal blazing, the Core's heart in her grip, fresh from crushing Xiwen's six-tailed construct in Zhabei. Lu Mingxu's betrayal—texting Jingran warnings—had gutted her ambush, and Meilin's X videos, meant to vilify Jingran, were fueling her #ShanghaiWitch legend instead. Xiwen's dream—Bei dominance over Shanghai's tech grid—was unraveling, and Jingran was the blade.
"She's a curse!" Xiwen roared, her silver robe torn at the sleeve, amber eyes blazing like her lost foxes. "I trap her, and she rises!"
A shadow stirred near the temple's rune-etched arch, and Zhao Wenxu's voice cut through, smooth as venom. "You're cracking, Xiwen," he said, stepping into the candlelight, jade mask dangling from his fingers. "Jingran's not just luck—she's rewriting your game."
Xiwen spun, runes sparking in her palms, itching to burn him. "Don't mock me, Zhao! Your Meilin's a disaster—her videos glorify Jingran! You promised control!"
Zhao's smile was a blade, his suit untouched by the temple's chaos. "Meilin's a spark, not a storm. Her chaos splits Shanghai—Guangli's allies waver, Teng Haoran's exposed. Jingran's bleeding, weak. Strike now, or lose."
Xiwen's laugh was jagged, raw. "Lose? She's got the Core's heart! Her pendant's syncing—my ley lines are glitching!" She slammed a hand on the altar's remains, green flames flaring, scorching her skin. Pain grounded her, but not enough—Jingran's vault win, Zhabei survival, mocked her every spell.
Zhao tilted his head, eyes glinting like his jade ring. "The Core's not hers yet—heart's partial. She's in Pudong, temple-bound, with Mingxu and Teng. They're wounded, mana low. Flood the wards—end her."
Xiwen's chest tightened, Zhao's words sinking in. Jingran was close—too close—her seal's glow a beacon through her scrying mirror. Mingxu's defection stung worst—his tech-sorcery, her creation, now aided Jingran, his Zhabei fight proof. She'd sent constructs to his safehouse, to Zhabei, but he'd survived, and now he was here, with her. Xiwen's ritual—binding Shanghai's tech to Bei sorcery—needed the Core's full power, and Jingran's pendant was the key, a HuoTech relic her clan should've crushed.
"Mingxu," Xiwen hissed, voice dripping poison. "I'll flay him."
Zhao shrugged, twirling his mask. "Flay later—trap now. My spies say Jingran's team's fraying—Lanyi's hack's slowing, Haoran's gun's low. Temple's your ground—use it."
Xiwen's eyes narrowed, wary. Zhao's Suzhou clan was no ally—his deal with Meilin, his spies, screamed ambition. Her temple wards were hers alone, but his intel was sharp—Jingran's wounds, her mana drain, were cracks to exploit. She'd flood the temple with constructs, seal the ley line nexus, and crush them all—Jingran, Mingxu, Haoran, Lanyi.
She knelt amid the altar's shards, chanting, runes blazing red. A new construct formed—seven-tailed, colossal, its fur crackling with ley line storms. "Guard the nexus," she whispered, binding it to the temple's heart. The walls shook, sigils glowing, and the mirror showed Jingran—fog-bound, seal dim, moving south with Mingxu's shadow.
Zhao watched, amused. "Seven tails? You're betting big, Xiwen."
"Big wins," she snapped, rising, robe trailing ash. "You're here—fight, or leave. I want her pendant, her Core, her life."
He bowed, mockingly. "Fight, then. Meilin's video drops soon—Jingran's 'confession.' It'll break her allies."
Xiwen ignored him, focusing the mirror—Jingran's signal, stronger, temple gates near. Her ritual flickered, ley lines surging, and her mother's voice screamed in her mind: Bei reign, or ruin. The Bund, the vault, Zhabei—all losses, but the temple was her last stand.
"Jingran," she hissed, claws sparking at her fingertips. "You end here."
Her burner phone buzzed, screen blank but for text: Flames die, Bei. Shadows rise. No sender, no trace.
Xiwen's blood froze, the same shadow—Ashes choke—haunting her. Not Zhao—his face was calm, plotting. Not Mingxu—too raw. Someone deeper, tied to the Protocol, the seal's roots. The mirror dimmed, and she smashed a fist into it, cracks spiderwebbing.
"Who is it?" she snarled, but the temple's hum answered—ley lines, straining under Jingran's Core heart. Zhao vanished, his silence a taunt. Xiwen summoned two more constructs—four-tailed, swift—and sent them to the gates. The nexus would hold, or she'd burn with it.
Pudong's fog clung to Huo Jingran as she crept toward Xiwen's temple gates, a rusted steel hatch buried under a derelict lot. The jade seal's runes flickered in her clutch, the Core's heart pulsing—her vault win, Zhabei's fight, costing blood and mana. Her leg bled, back screamed, mana drain like a glitched boss fight, but Mingxu flanked her, stun baton low, his bloodied glasses glinting trust—barely. Teng Haoran scouted ahead, proto-gun sparking, his arm a mess but steady. Shao Lanyi hauled her laptop, ley line data screaming—temple nexus, Xiwen's ritual, now or never.
"Xiwen's got a dungeon fetish," Jingran panted, dodging a pipe. "Where's my raid gear?"
Mingxu's smirk was strained, blood on his cheek. "You're geared enough, Huo. Temple's a death trap—wards, constructs, her."
Haoran's voice was sharp, fog muffling it. "Focus, Jingran. Ritual's peaking—ley lines are screaming. We're exposed."
Lanyi muttered, laptop glowing. "Exposed? Meilin's video's out—says you 'confessed' to sabotage. X's a mess—your fans are fighting, but it's bad."
Jingran's grin masked pain—Guangli's lies, Qiongyu's cold, Meilin's venom, cutting deep. "Confessed? I'm confessing to style," she quipped, seal flaring.
Her pendant blared: Jade Whisper alert: Task—Breach temple, stop ritual. Seven-tailed construct detected—ley line nexus critical. Success chance: 51%.
"Fifty-one?" Jingran groaned, gripping the seal. "My crit rate's in the trash!"
Focus, Host. Seal's runes can break wards. Mingxu's tech—essential.
"Mingxu," Jingran muttered, glancing at him. His Zhabei save—Don't die—earned trust, but his past traps lingered. Ally, for now—her gut bet on it.
Lanyi's laptop pinged, temple map pulsing. "Nexus is deep—wards are insane. Constructs everywhere—something big's guarding it."
Haoran's gun hummed, catching a shadow—not human. "Constructs—plural," he growled. "Mingxu, move."
Mingxu nodded, hacking his tablet, runes sparking. "Wards are Bei—old, nasty. I can crack 'em, but it's slow."
Jingran's phone buzzed—anonymous: You're mine, Huo. Inside. Her blood chilled, Mingxu's texts—Front row—clashing with this. Not him—someone else, tied to her family's sorcery, Meilin's shade a distraction.
"Creeps," she muttered, seal blazing. A memory hit—HuoTech, Qiongyu's locked safe, Bei contracts—and Meilin's videos felt like pawns in a bigger game.
The gates loomed, runes glowing red—Xiwen's welcome. A roar—four-tailed, two constructs—erupted, claws gleaming. Jingran raised the seal, runes surging, grin fierce. "Xiwen's rolling out the red carpet," she said. "Let's RSVP."