The armored truck tore north through the early morning mist, its tires chewing up the rugged highway, Beijing's shadow creeping closer with every mile. Feng Ruoxi sat beside Yukang in the front, her dark hair tangled from the wind, the phoenix tattoo on her wrist glowing softly, its whisper—"The fire rises…"—a constant thrum in her veins. Her chest ached from old wounds, her fire coiled tight beneath her skin, but her eyes blazed with a resolve that had claimed Kyoto and now hungered for answers in Beijing. Jiang Wei's crew was moving on Hao, Bin, and Xingxing holding the line—family split by betrayal, and Tianhua's labs looming like a guillotine.