A week later.
The mountain gates of the Heavenly Tiger Sect loomed ahead like the jaws of an ancient beast, half shrouded in drifting mist. Stone pillars rose toward the heavens, and the sound of distant bells echoed faintly across the valleys. Disciples moved in and out like ants returning to their nest, each carrying their own thoughts and desires.
Jiang Chen walked along the winding mountain path at a carefree pace. Flanking him were two youthful disciples whose faces were flushed with a mixture of lingering terror and deep admiration. Their robes were tattered and stained with the bile of a swamp python, clearly indicating the mortal peril from which they had just been plucked.
"Senior Brother Jiang, your Heavenly Tiger Fist must have reached the stage of perfection. To slay that middle-stage Rank One beast with a single strike... it is a level of mastery I can only dream of attaining," the taller of the two youths said.
