As Zhiwei waved goodbye and jogged off to join his master, Ji’an let out a breath, her shoulders dropping slightly.

She had run the gauntlet, the Protagonists had issued their challenges, and she had survived without accidentally triggering any immediate death flags.

"You handled them well."

The voice was soft, calm, and incredibly close.

Ji’an turned. Xie Wangchen had approached silently, his Wind-Step technique flawless.

He stood a respectful distance away, his pristine white Ice-Silk robes immaculate, his dark hair catching the mountain breeze.

There was no murderous aura. There was no suffocating jealousy regarding her interaction with Gu Zhiwei or Yan Lie.

Wangchen looked at her with an expression of profound, quiet serenity. His dark eyes were clear, focused, and entirely supportive.

He was playing the role of the perfect, understanding sworn brother with terrifying, sociopathic perfection.

"Hey, Little Puddle," Ji’an smiled, feeling an immediate, genuine sense of relief wash over her. Among all the aggressive, posturing lunatics in this sect, Wangchen was currently the only one who felt like a safe harbor. "Yeah, well. They’re like loud dogs. You just have to bop them on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper occasionally."

Wangchen’s lips curved into a faint, devastatingly soft smile.

He reached out, his long, pale fingers lightly brushing against the sleeve of her heavy, formal Third Generation robes.

"You should be careful, Ji’an," Wangchen murmured, his voice laced with genuine concern. "The Official Ranking is not a game. The missions are dangerous, and the other disciples will target you to prove themselves against the Drunken Sovereign’s boast. They will not hold back."

"I know," Ji’an nodded, her expression sobering slightly. "But I’ve got the Dao of the Iron Wok now. And I’ve got my spatula. I can hold my own."

Wangchen looked down at her wrist.

Hidden beneath the wide sleeve of her robe was the Frost-Silk Pulse Guard he had tied on her just two days ago.

He could feel the faint, microscopic thrum of her heartbeat tethered to his own spiritual sea.

He knew exactly where she was. He would always know if she was in danger.

If any disciple dared to cross the line in the arena, if any beast threatened her on a mission, Wangchen knew he could cross the continent in a matter of hours to freeze the offender’s blood into solid ice before she even had a chance to swing her spatula.

But he didn’t say that.

He couldn’t let her see the monster beneath the ice. Not yet.

"I know you can, Brother Lin," Wangchen said softly, meeting her eyes with absolute, unwavering faith. "You are stronger than they realize. But if you ever require assistance on a mission... or if you simply wish for company... you need only ask. I am always at your disposal."

The use of the honorific, delivered with that deep, rough voice, sent a completely involuntary shiver down Ji’an’s spine.

"I’ll keep that in mind, Wangchen," Ji’an smiled, her heart doing a strange, fluttering little dance in her chest. "I’ll definitely drag you along to carry the heavy stuff too."

Wangchen bowed his head slightly, the picture of elegant devotion. "It would be my honor." 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

As Wangchen stepped back to wait for his Master, Ji’an turned to follow Jiu Zui toward their flying gourd.

The coast was finally clear. The meeting was over. The grocery shopping era was about to begin.

But fate, and the heavily contrived plot of a BL web novel, had one final, excruciatingly awkward encounter planned for her.

Descending the marble steps of the Grand Ascendant Hall, looking utterly majestic and incredibly stiff, was Elder Qin Changxu.

The ancient master of the Heartless Dao was wearing his formal, heavy silver and blue robes.

His silver hair was perfectly pinned. He exuded an aura of untouchable, immortal perfection.

As he walked toward the courtyard where Wangchen was waiting, his path inevitably intersected with Lin Ji’an.

Ji’an, maintaining her newfound professional demeanor, stopped and offered a standard, polite bow suitable for a peer. "Elder Qin. Good afternoon."

Elder Qin stopped dead in his tracks.

He tried to glare at her. He tried to summon the icy, condescending disdain that had defined his personality for three centuries.

He tried to look at the boy in front of him and see only a vulgar, soot-stained cook who was a blight upon the Celestial Sword Sect.

But his brain, which had recently suffered a catastrophic, traumatic reboot in a steaming bathhouse, entirely betrayed him.

The moment he looked at Ji’an, the majestic marble courtyard vanished from his mind’s eye.

Instead, his treacherous memory flashed back to the steaming, white jade bathing chamber.

He didn’t see the heavy, formal Third Generation robes Ji’an was currently wearing.

He saw the thin, white cotton inner tunic, completely soaked through, clinging to the lithe, agile curves of her torso.

He felt the phantom, burning weight of her knees bracketing his hips. He felt the shocking, desperate heat of her hands pressed flat against his bare, freezing chest.

He remembered the smell of the steam, the scent of crushed mint and spices.

He remembered the feeling of absolute, desperate vulnerability, and the shocking, terrifying realization that the source of his salvation was straddling his lap.

Elder Qin was three hundred years old. He was a virgin ascetic who literally froze his own heart to avoid the pitfalls of mortal desire.

And yet, looking at the cook standing in front of him, Elder Qin felt a sudden, inexplicable, suffocating wave of heat rise in his chest.

His heart, which was supposed to beat once every ten seconds, gave a violent, erratic stutter.

’Why?’ Elder Qin panicked internally, his pristine composure fracturing. ’Why is my Qi fluctuating? He is just a vulgar wretch! I am an immortal! Countless maidens of supreme beauty from the allied sects have thrown themselves at my feet, and I have felt nothing! Why does the memory of this... this boy... make my blood boil?!’

It made no logical sense.