The bullet train screeched into Shanghai's sprawling station, its sleek metal frame shuddering as Feng Ruoxi stepped onto the platform, her boots echoing against the concrete. The phoenix tattoo on her wrist glowed faintly, its crimson pulse a steady rhythm in her veins—"The past calls… the fire rises…"—a whisper that grew sharper with every step toward Beijing. Her chest ached from the Kyoto battles, her fire simmering beneath her skin, but her eyes burned with a resolve that had claimed one city and now hungered for another. Shanghai was a pit stop, a chance to regroup, but the air crackled with danger—Tianhua's reach closing in.