The training cave reeked of damp stone and bitter herbs. Elder Mo had led them deep into the mountain, past wards that made Ling Tian's teeth ache.
"First lesson," the elder said, lighting a rusted brazier. "How to hide from gods."
He tossed Ling Tian a tattered scroll. Breath of the Earth Dragon—a qi-concealment technique.
Qing'er frowned. "You're teaching him hidden arts? After one night?"
Elder Mo chuckled. "He's been practicing the Nine-Heaven Dragon Art for weeks. This is child's play in comparison."
Ling Tian's head snapped up.
The elder winked. "Did you think I wouldn't recognize his masterpiece?"
Before Ling Tian could respond, the cave trembled. Distant shouts echoed through the stone.
Elder Mo sighed. "Ah. They've found the garden."
Qing'er moved toward the entrance, but the elder shook his head. "Not that way." His staff tapped a seemingly solid wall—it rippled like water, revealing a hidden tunnel. "Go. I'll delay them."
Ling Tian hesitated. "Who's behind the array?"
The old man's smile faded. "The same people who gave Bai Zhan his new arm."
As if summoned by the words, a beast like roar shook the mountain. Something—someone—was tearing through the upper tunnels.
Elder Mo shoved them toward the passage. "Move! And don't stop until—"
The cave entrance exploded.
Bai Zhan stood amidst the rubble, his right arm—now a fusion of black scales and pulsating veins—clutching a guard's severed head.
"There you are," he hissed, his voice like that of a demon.
The collar around his neck bore a familiar symbol:
The Netherworld Pavilion's sigil.