The Owl's fingers tightened around Zhao Ming's throat—
—but flames erupted between them.
Lin Xue's burning wings swept outward, the heat so intense it warped the air. Shàng Guān Zhě was forced to release Zhao Ming and glide backward, landing lightly on the fractured stone.
The Owl tilted her head.
"Oh… working together?"
Her mask tilted toward Zhao Ming first, then Lin Xue.
"Cooperation is cute."
Her tone was mocking.
Lin Xue didn't care. Flames surged upward, forming spiraling arcs behind her as she stepped forward, eyes blazing.
Zhao Ming stood at her side.
Still shaking from the Owl's grip.
Still bruised from the last battle.
Still terrified.
But there.
His stance lowered—
the familiar flowing posture taught by Lei Sheng, the stance of yielding, redirecting, absorbing.
Lin Xue shifted hers—
the stance of a descending phoenix.
Two geniuses.
Two prodigies.
Two opposite forces.
Yet their synergy was instant.
The Battle Begins
Lin Xue launched forward first.
A comet of flame.
A hammer of burning qi.
Her fist descended, flames curling like talons.
The Owl didn't block.
Didn't evade.
She simply answered.
A single tap with her finger—
—and Lin Xue's strike veered off-course, slamming into the ground and melting a crater.
Lin Xue gritted her teeth.
"What technique—?!"
Shàng Guān Zhě twirled a feather between her fingers lazily.
"Wind is simple.
Pressure is simple.
You, however… are messy."
She flicked the feather.
The air sliced toward Lin Xue with razor precision.
Zhao Ming stepped in.
His palm swept gently outward—
no strength, just direction.
Wind met water.
The attack curved harmlessly past them.
Lin Xue exhaled, surprised.
They moved together.
Lin Xue attacked.
Zhao Ming defended.
She was the blade.
He was the sheath.
In perfect synchronicity, they became something extraordinary.
Two young talents moving like a single organism.
Lin Xue's flames illuminated the arena.
Zhao Ming's redirections flowed like rippling streams.
For a moment—
just a moment—
the Owl was forced to step back.
Her eyes widened under the mask.
"Coordinated… unexpectedly coordinated."
Her laughter returned—
soft, amused.
She vanished.
Reappeared behind Zhao Ming, whispering:
"You rely on everyone you meet."
Zhao Ming spun, redirecting her claw-like fingers, but her words pierced deeper than any strike.
"Lei Sheng shielded you," she said, flipping gracefully over Lin Xue's burning sweep.
"Qiang Hao saved you."
"And now this little phoenix cub shelters you?"
Lin Xue gritted her teeth, flames crackling louder.
Shàng Guān Zhě's voice slid around them like a serpent.
"You're not a cultivator, Zhao Ming.
You're a frightened kitten hiding behind giants."
Zhao Ming froze.
It was a simple line.
But for someone who had spent his life being used, cornered, punished, hunted—
It stabbed through him effortlessly.
The Owl leaned in, whispering:
"You aren't strong."
His breath snapped in his throat.
"You don't even know how to fight."
His chest tightened.
"You're just running—always running.
A scaredy cat pretending to be human."
Something inside Zhao Ming twisted—
then cracked.
Zhao Ming struck.
Not redirecting.
Not yielding.
He hit her—hard—
mixing a Zhao footwork feint with Lei Sheng's retaliatory palm.
Wind cracked.
Shàng Guān Zhě actually moved.
She skid back half a step, caught off guard.
Her voice dropped to a delighted whisper.
"Oh?"
Zhao Ming didn't hear her anymore.
For the first time since he left the Zhao Clan—
he felt bloodlust.
Not cold hatred.
Not anger.
But a fierce, burning desire to fight.
His veins pulsed with heat.
His fingers curled.
His qi roared through him like thunderstorm winds.
Lin Xue sensed it.
She stepped beside him.
Flame and wind intertwined.
"Together," she said simply.
Zhao Ming nodded.
"Together."
Lin Xue's flames burst outward, forming wings and talons around her arms.
Zhao Ming's palms spiraled with controlled currents—
redirecting force outward, loading each movement with gathered momentum.
He struck—
Lin Xue followed—
Their attacks layered, twined, amplified each other.
Flame followed wind.
Wind sharpened flame.
A phoenix's claws descended from one side—
a rippling wave of counterforce from the other—
forcing Shàng Guān Zhě to raise both arms to deflect.
Her feet slid half a meter across the floor.
Shàng Guān Zhě's head tilted again.
Then she laughed.
A delighted, unhinged laugh.
"You two… are interesting."
But the Hunt Was Not Stopped
For the first time, she acknowledged their strength.
For the first time, she defended seriously.
And for the first time—
Lin Xue and Zhao Ming put real pressure on the Owl.
Still—
the danger was far from over.
Because Shàng Guān Zhě's smile beneath the mask widened—
and she whispered:
"Now… I'll stop playing."
The Huntress was no longer toying with them.
She was about to kill them.
Together.
Unless something—or someone—intervened.
And in the shadows above,
the Crow watched with rising hunger.