The hour before dawn, the sky was a dim expanse washed in pale indigo, where the last stars flickered weakly, as though reluctant to withdraw.
The mountain of the Heavenly Tiger Sect rose layer upon layer into that fading darkness, and upon its higher reaches, the inner sect lay bathed in a denser tide of spiritual essence. Here, the spiritual essence was so dense that it manifested as a thin, silvery mist that clung to the eaves of jade-tiled pavilions and wound around the trunks of ancient scholar trees.
Jiang Chen and Meng Kai stood before a courtyard enclosed by walls of pale stone veined with faint gold. A plaque hung above the entrance, the name Sun Jian written in vermilion blood, radiating the power of a dormant volcano to any who dared look upon it.
Jiang Chen's demeanor was cool and calm, as though the madness of the night had left no trace upon him.
