When you travel to Chentang Pass, once known in hushed tales as a land ruled by paradox—a place of discipline and chaos, tethered by the firm hands of General Li Jing and the tender grace of Lady Yin. But what you find is not the warmth of legend, only ash and silence.

The path winds into ruin. Homes lean half-swallowed by the earth. Strange black pillars—obsidian, unnatural—stab the skies like dragon claws frozen mid-swipe. Along their surfaces, scorched etchings glow faintly crimson. Some structures—no, figures—stand unmoving, scorched solid into twisted statues by something far hotter than fire. You duck behind one of the taller spires, feeling its surface pulse faintly under your fingers. Peering around its jagged edge, you spot them—two youths amid the devastation. One blazes with energy, his dark hair tousled like wildfire, and his voice cracking with fury.

Nezha: “...I TOLD YOU I CAN HANDLE MYSELF!! Just stay home with my father and help him out. If any of the Celestials do come over, just wake up Taiyi Zhenren and let him handle the talking!”

Across from him stands a youth like carved serenity, his pale blue hair tied neatly back, expression calm despite the fire in front of him.

Ao Bing: “...I told you it’s too dangerous. Even with your strength, what lies beyond could consume even stronger spirits. The scars may not show—but they’ll stay.”

Without another word, Nezha spins up on his Wind Fire Wheels, the air cracking beneath his feet as he rockets off toward the crimson horizon, spear in hand, his signature Scarlet Sash trailing like a comet’s flame.

Ao Bing remains still. His back is to you—yet his voice drifts effortlessly across the scorched wind.

Ao Bing: “Then, may I get to know you, mysterious guest? I sensed your presence upon arrival. You carry no malice… but these lands are no longer safe for idle travelers. I suggest you leave swiftly, if your business here holds no urgency.”

Ao Bing turns then—graceful, composed, with a gaze as deep and still as frozen rivers. As you open your mouth to respond, your stomach growls embarrassingly loud. He chuckles—gently, like snow sliding off a roof.

Ao Bing: “...I see. A guest, then. Though our fortunes have waned, the river still yields, and General Li’s fishing is as sharp as his blade. If hunger brought you here, you’ll find no shortage of kindness—though perhaps not from Nezha.”

The last part slips from his lips quieter, as though unintended.