Ji’an hastily adjusted her heavy silk robes, smoothing out the wrinkles and schooling her features into a mask of aloof, untouchable determination.

When she and Jiu Zui finally pushed open the doors of the Grand Ascendant Hall, they stepped out onto the magnificent, cloud-wreathed plaza outside.

The other Peak Masters had already departed, flying off on their swords and artifacts to prepare their peaks for the upcoming six-month crucible.

However, the chief disciples, the "Protagonists" of the novel, had lingered near the majestic marble archways, waiting for their respective masters, and clearly waiting to deliver their parting shots to the newly enlisted cook.

As Ji’an walked down the sweeping marble steps, the gauntlet began.

Lu Jianheng was the first to intercept her. The Sword Lord stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his sharp, aristocratic face set in a deep, haughty scowl.

His white and silver robes snapped in the high-altitude wind.

"Do not think that just because you wear the robes of a Martial Uncle, I will show you mercy in the arena, cook," Lu Jianheng declared loudly, ensuring his voice carried. "The Sword Peak respects only strength. If we are matched in the rankings, I will not hold back. I expect you to defend yourself properly. If you trip over your own spatula, it will be an insult to my blade!"

Despite his harsh words, Ji’an noticed that the tips of the Sword Lord’s ears were faintly pink, and his grip on Cloud-Piercer was white-knuckled with nervous anticipation.

He didn’t want to hurt her; he desperately wanted her to acknowledge him as a worthy rival.

’He is literally a cute little prickly hedgehog asking for a belly rub via combat,’ Ji’an thought, incredibly amused.

"I wouldn’t dream of insulting your blade, Jianheng," Ji’an smiled politely, leaning into her senior title. "Just make sure you do your footwork drills. I’d hate to embarrass you in front of your juniors."

Lu Jianheng’s face flushed a brilliant crimson. "I... my footwork is flawless! Insolent!" he barked, turning on his heel and storming away, though he looked secretly thrilled by the banter.

Next was Xiao Yichen. The Second Prince leaned elegantly against a marble pillar, spinning his closed folding fan between his long, pale fingers.

His midnight-blue robes seemed to absorb the sunlight around him.

"Martial Uncle Lin," Xiao Yichen purred, his voice a smooth, melodic whisper that nonetheless sent a faint shiver of unease down Ji’an’s spine.

He pushed off the pillar, stepping smoothly into her path. He offered a flawless, shallow bow.

"I must admit, the prospect of facing you on the battlefield is incredibly... stimulating," Yichen smiled, his dark eyes sparkling with a sadistic, calculating curiosity. "I have seen your culinary arts. I have seen your... negotiating tactics in the dark. I am terribly eager to discover what other hidden depths you possess when pressed to your absolute limits."

He snapped his fan open, covering the lower half of his face, leaving only those terrifying, smiling eyes visible. "Do try not to break too quickly. It ruins the fun."

Ji’an maintained her aloof smile, though internally she was sweating. ’This guy is a walking true-crime documentary. Note to self: never accept a mission in the same province as him!’

"I’ll do my best to keep you entertained, Your Highness," Ji’an replied dryly, stepping past him.

A heavy, booming laugh echoed from the edge of the plaza.

Yan Lie was sitting casually on the stone railing overlooking the cloud sea, his massive, blood-red halberd resting over his broad shoulders.

The Demon Lord had abandoned his formal robes the moment the meeting ended, stripping down to his usual, chaotic mix of dark leather and dark silk.

His feral, glowing red eyes locked onto Ji’an. He bared his sharp teeth in a grin that was equal parts amusement and predatory hunger.

"The Grandmother enters the ring," Yan Lie rumbled, his deep voice vibrating in the air. "I was worried this tournament was going to be a boring slog against a bunch of fragile, silk-wearing brats. But now... now we have some actual flavor on the menu."

He hopped down from the railing, the sheer weight of his body cracking the marble tile beneath his boots.

He didn’t approach her, but his gaze was heavy and suffocating.

"Don’t die before I get a taste of you in the arena, cook," Yan Lie warned, his voice dropping an octave. "I want to see if that iron wok technique of yours can withstand a real, flesh-tearing hunt. Keep your spatula sharp."

"Keep your halberd clean, edge-lord," Ji’an shot back without missing a beat, refusing to back down from the Demon Lord’s intimidation tactics. "I don’t serve unwashed customers."

Yan Lie threw his head back and roared with laughter, absolutely delighted by her insolence, before melting into the shadows to return to his peak.

"Brother Lin! Brother Lin!"

The oppressive, heavy atmosphere left by the villains was instantly shattered by a blinding, radiant beam of pure, golden sunshine.

Gu Zhiwei came bounding over, practically vibrating with excitement. The Holy Son’s golden eyes were wide, and his smile was so bright it could have powered a small city.

"I am so proud of you!" Zhiwei beamed, stopping just short of throwing his arms around her in a massive hug, clearly remembering the sudden, terrifying drop in temperature that usually accompanied such actions. "To step up and face the entire Inner Sect! You are so brave! I can’t wait for us to complete missions together! We can form a party! I’ll be the shield, and you can be the vanguard!"

Ji’an couldn’t help but smile genuinely at the golden retriever. Zhiwei was the only one who didn’t view the tournament as a chance to assert dominance or inflict psychological warfare. He just wanted to hang out.

"Thanks, Zhiwei," Ji’an chuckled, patting his shoulder. "I might take you up on that. I’ll need someone to carry the heavy grocery bags when I go hunting for spirit-beasts."

"I am excellent at carrying things!" Zhiwei proclaimed proudly.