But another, far more cowardly part of her brain immediately argued back:

’Are you insane?! If you go over there now, he might snap your neck! Or worse, he might look at you with those deep, intense, emotionally devastating puppy-dog eyes again, and you’ll do something stupid like kiss his forehead! You are a Martial Uncle! You cannot be caught simping for the villain!’

"I’ll let him cool off a few more days," Ji’an muttered aloud, aggressively dusting the counter with flour. "Yes. Give it till the weekend. Let the ice thaw."

Zhiwei tilted his head, completely confused. "Let the ice thaw? But Brother Lin, winter is coming. The ice is only going to get thicker."

Ji’an groaned, resting her flour-covered forehead against the wooden table. "Zhiwei, please. Don’t use metaphors. My life is already a poorly written melodrama."

.

.

.

Miles away, on the freezing, desolate training grounds of the Eternal Cloud Peak, Xie Wangchen swung his sword.

CRACK!

A massive, ten-ton boulder of solid granite split cleanly in half, the sheer, hyper-compressed Flawless Ice Qi coating the blade of Winter’s Sigh, freezing the stone at the molecular level until it shattered under its own weight.

Wangchen didn’t pause. He stepped through the falling debris, his footwork flawless, his breathing measured, and swung again.

CRACK!

Another boulder pulverized.

He had been swinging the sword for fourteen hours straight. He wore only a thin, sweat-soaked inner tunic, the freezing mountain wind entirely incapable of cooling the dark, violent inferno raging inside his chest.

He was not punishing himself.

He was suppressing himself.

Every single swing of the blade, every exertion of Qi, was a calculated, desperate attempt to burn off the physical and emotional energy that was currently screaming at him to march up the Drunken Peak, kick the doors of the kitchen down, and demand to know why she ran away.

’He ran away,’ the dark, obsessive voice in his head whispered, a relentless, agonizing loop. ’He looked at you, he blushed, and then he ran away.’

Wangchen closed his eyes, executing a blindingly fast flurry of strikes that leveled a grove of frozen pine trees.

He knew why she ran. He wasn’t stupid. He had seen the panic in her eyes when he stepped close, when he lowered his voice.

He had pushed too hard. He had let the mask slip. He had allowed her to see the depth of the hunger in his eyes, and it had terrified her.

’I must be patient,’ Wangchen commanded himself, gritting his teeth as he drove his sword into the frozen earth.

He knew that if he chased her now, he would only validate her fear.

If he cornered her on the Drunken Peak, with the Drunken Sovereign watching, she would retreat further behind her walls of arrogant banter and "sworn brotherhood."

He had to let her come to him.

He had to wait.

He pulled the sword from the earth, looking down at his own hands. They were pale, steady, and lethal.

He had spent the last week taking care of Elder Qin with cold, mechanical efficiency. He had brewed the medicinal teas, and he had regulated the ambient Qi in the palace.

He played the perfect, dutiful disciple. But every time he looked at his master, he remembered the sight of Ji’an in that tub, and the urge to freeze the old man’s heart solid was nearly overwhelming.

He couldn’t stay on this peak much longer without snapping.

Wangchen looked up at the sky, his dark eyes fixing on the distant, overgrown silhouette of the Drunken Peak.

The fire in his chest, that burning, agonizing, desperate need to see her face, to hear her call him ’Little Puddle’, to taste her cooking, was consuming him alive.

The ice of his Dao was melting under the sheer weight of his obsession.

’I will wait,’ Wangchen vowed to the silent, frozen mountain, his grip on Winter’s Sigh tightening until his knuckles bled. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

’But this fire will not go out. It will burn until it consumes me. Or... until you come back, Ji’an, and pour the water on it yourself.’

The Ice Demon sheathed his sword, standing alone in the ruins of the training ground, a ticking time bomb of yandere devotion, waiting patiently for the cook to return to his kitchen.

***

On the freezing, pristine summit of the Eternal Cloud Peak, an event of unprecedented, meticulous domesticity was taking place.

Xie Wangchen, the terrifying Flawless Ice Root, the boy whose mere glare could shatter a seasoned swordsman’s resolve, was currently arranging a tea set.

He was not just placing cups on a table. He was calculating the exact geometric angles required for optimal aesthetic presentation.

He had personally hiked to the highest, most treacherous precipice of the mountain at dawn to harvest the extremely rare, ephemeral Frost-Lotus Petals just as they bloomed, intending to brew a tea that perfectly complemented the heavy, savory richness of braised pork belly.

He had swept the whole courtyard. He had repaired the stone dummies he had annihilated in his jealous rage the day before.

He had even, through an agonizing exercise of absolute willpower, suppressed his lethal, freezing aura so that the ambient temperature of the rear courtyard was a pleasant, crisp autumn chill rather than a localized ice age.

He sat at the stone table, his posture immaculately straight, his dark, fathomless eyes fixed unblinkingly on the circular moon-gate.

’She will come,’ Wangchen thought, the obsessive, rhythmic thrum of his heart betraying his outward calm. ’She said she would let the ice thaw. I have thawed. I have controlled the fire. Now, she must bring the water.’

He waited.

The sun climbed higher into the sky, casting long, brilliant shadows across the snow. The Frost-Lotus tea steeped to absolute perfection, releasing a delicate, ethereal fragrance.

Wangchen did not move, not even blinking.

An hour passed. Then two.

The tea began to grow cold.

A small, terrifying fracture appeared in his ice-like composure. The tips of his fingers twitched.