The Guangdong night buzzed with humidity, the jungle pressing close to the hidden lab—a sleek, modern facility masquerading as a derelict warehouse, its steel walls glinting under a crescent moon. Ruoxi crouched in the underbrush, her shoulder scar a faint ache beneath her tactical vest, the phoenix tattoo pulsing softly—balanced now, life and death intertwined, as Pang Yuwei's vision had promised.
Her breath steadied, the memory of her mother's words—"trust your heart, not just your rage"—a guide for the fire she'd wield tonight. Jiang Yukang flanked her, mask on, his silenced pistol a dark extension of the kingpin's lethal calm, his bandaged arm healed enough to fight. Xiao Zheng knelt nearby, jammer humming, his leg and shoulder scarred but functional, laptop ready to crack the lab's defenses. Jiang Bin and Xia Xingxing covered the rear, knives gleaming, their loyalty a steel thread tying the team to the Jiang clan's reclaimed honor.
