While Xiulan battled the Trial of Thunder, Yanmei remained outside, guarded by Lei Feng. The wind cut through the ruined temple like a blade, carrying whispers of power and destiny.

“You’re not just his friend,” Lei Feng said softly, studying her stance. “You hide your strength.”

Yanmei’s gaze dropped. “I won’t steal his light.”

“But you have your own path,” he pressed.

Her hand trembled. “I carry blood I don’t understand. My clan… they called me cursed. I was born with ice in my veins.”

Lei Feng’s eyes widened. “An Ice Cultivator?”

“No,” she said quietly. “Something older… something colder.”

Suddenly, the ground beneath them cracked. From the shadows of the ruined temple rose a figure cloaked in dark robes, with frozen tears etched into her cheeks like ice sculptures.

“I’ve come for the child of Frostbane,” the woman intoned.

Yanmei stepped forward, unwavering.

The figure bowed. “You are the last of the Frozen Vein. Come. Your Trial awaits.”

Without another word, Yanmei vanished into a portal of swirling snow, leaving only a cold breeze in her wake.

Xiulan emerged from the storm, transformed. His robes were scorched, eyes shimmering with golden fire, lightning dancing across his fingertips.

Lei Feng nodded. “You survived.”

“Barely,” Xiulan replied. “But where’s Yanmei?”

A shadow crossed Lei Feng’s face. “She’s gone… to face her own trial.”

Xiulan’s fists clenched. “We’ll find her.”

There was no time to linger. Smoke billowed in the distance—the city of Shenzhou was ablaze.

They arrived to chaos: cultivators clashed in the streets while civilians fled, screams echoing through the night. The Eternal Sect had descended, hunting the Phoenix Vessel.

Xiulan’s eyes narrowed. “This is no coincidence.”

“I’ll draw them away,” he said.

Lei Feng frowned. “You’ll be surrounded.”

“Good.”

He surged forward, a tempest incarnate—fire spiraling, lightning cracking, the air alive with energy. He confronted the Eternal Sect’s enforcers, incinerating their talismans midair.

“Xiulan of the Flame!” an elder bellowed. “You have no place among the realms!”

“You burned this city to draw me out,” Xiulan hissed, “Now face me!”

The battle escalated, fury and power colliding. But Xiulan sensed something more—watching from afar. Someone stronger. Someone ancient.

Above the burning city, a tear opened in the sky. From it descended a man in white and silver robes. His face serene, but his eyes cold as jade.

“I am Grandmaster Wuying,” he declared, voice calm yet unyielding. “And you, little Phoenix, must be caged.”

The moment his palm moved, the world froze. Not even lightning obeyed. Xiulan dropped to one knee, his dual-core surging in desperation—but this man’s power eclipsed his.

Then, through the chaos, an arrow of pure ice sliced through the air, shattering Wuying’s hold.

Yanmei stood atop a rooftop, eyes glowing like winter stars.

“You’ll have to go through both of us,” she said, voice cold and unwavering.

Xiulan’s gaze met hers, a silent pact passing between them. Fire and ice, lightning and will—together, they were a storm the Eternal Sect had never seen.