"Alright! The cub has been fed and watered!" Ji’an had suddenly clapped her hands, oblivious to the sexual tension that was suffocating him. She hopped off the bed. "I gotta go before the patrol comes back. Eat the rest! Don’t skip meals!"

She had climbed back out the window, leaving Wangchen sitting there with a racing heart, a full stomach, and a face that burned hotter than the sun.

Back in the present, under the Pine Spirit Tree, the corners of Xie Wangchen’s lips curled up.

It was a small, almost imperceptible smile, but on his usually frozen face, it was like a flower blooming in a glacier. He touched the corner of his mouth, remembering the sensation of her thumb.

’He came for me,’ Wangchen thought, the sweetness of the memory drowning out the noise of the arena. ’He risked punishment just to feed me. He called me handsome.’

He was lost in a haze of pink bubbles and spicy lamb.

"Brother Xie!"

The voice shattered the bubble like a sledgehammer hitting glass.

Wangchen’s smile vanished instantly. His expression snapped back to its default setting: absolute zero.

He looked up.

Standing in front of him, beaming with the energy of a golden retriever who had just found a new ball, was Gu Zhiwei.

The crowd had followed him, of course. A ring of disciples stood at a respectful distance, watching the "Holy Son" interact with the "Ice Monster." Wen Shiru stood a few paces back, his eyes narrowing as he assessed Wangchen’s mood.

"Brother Xie!" Gu Zhiwei repeated, oblivious to the murder in Wangchen’s eyes. "I saw you standing over here all alone! I was looking for you earlier!"

Wangchen straightened up, pushing himself off the tree. He didn’t bow. He didn’t smile.

"What do you want?" Wangchen asked, his voice flat.

Gu Zhiwei didn’t seem deterred by the hostility. In his mind, they were comrades who had survived the forest together. He had a bond with Lin Ji’an, and therefore, by extension, a bond with Lin Ji’an’s guard.

"I just wanted to say hello! We are fellow disciples now!" Gu Zhiwei chirped. He looked around Wangchen, scanning the area behind the tree as if expecting someone to pop out.

"But... where is Brother Lin?"

Gu Zhiwei’s face fell slightly. "I looked through the list of Inner Disciples, but I didn’t see his name. Is he late? Or... is he assigned to a different training ground?"

At the mention of "Brother Lin," the temperature around the Pine Tree dropped ten degrees. Frost began to creep up the roots.

Wangchen stepped forward. He moved into Gu Zhiwei’s personal space, forcing the Protagonist to take a startled step back.

"Why do you ask?" Wangchen demanded softly.

"I... well, I miss him!" Gu Zhiwei admitted openly, his eyes shining with that annoying, pure sincerity. "He is so funny, and his cooking is amazing! I wanted to invite him to sit with us. We could be a team again!"

’Miss him.’

’Team.’

The words acted like sparks on the dry tinder of Wangchen’s jealousy.

He remembered the way Gu Zhiwei had looked at Ji’an in the forest. He remembered the lantern Gu Zhiwei had released. He remembered Ji’an laughing at Gu Zhiwei’s jokes.

This "Holy Son" wanted to steal his light. He wanted to drag Ji’an into his circle of bright, noisy, dangerous attention.

"He is not here," Wangchen said, his voice dripping with venom.

"Not here?" Gu Zhiwei looked confused. "But... surely he passed? He is so talented! Did he go to the Alchemy Peak? Or the Beast Peak?"

"He is in the Outer Sect," Wangchen lied by omission, unwilling to reveal Ji’an’s kitchen location to this predator. "He is busy. He does not have time for games."

"Outer Sect?" Gu Zhiwei gasped. "That’s impossible! With his talent? That must be a mistake! I—I will go speak to the Elders! I will ask my Master to bring him in! Brother Lin shouldn’t be in the Outer Sect!"

Gu Zhiwei turned, ready to march off on a crusade of justice.

Sching.

The sound of a sword being thumbed out of its scabbard by an inch stopped him cold.

Gu Zhiwei froze. The disciples watching gasped.

Wangchen had stepped into Gu Zhiwei’s path. His hand was on the hilt of Winter’s Sigh. The killing intent radiating from him was not a joke.

It was heavy, suffocating, and directed entirely at the Protagonist.

"You will do no such thing," Wangchen hissed.

"Brother Xie?" Gu Zhiwei looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. "Why? I only want to help him!"

"You want to help?" Wangchen laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "Your ’help’ brings attention. Attention brings danger. He does not need your charity. He does not need your pity."

Wangchen leaned down, his face inches from Gu Zhiwei’s.

"Stay away from him," Wangchen whispered, his voice vibrating with possessive rage. "Do not look for him. Do not say his name. He is not your friend. He is my... Young Master."

He almost said "mine." He caught himself at the last second, but the implication hung heavy in the air.

The silence in the arena was deafening. The Holy Son was being threatened by the Ice Disciple. It was a clash of titans on the very first day.

Wen Shiru stepped in.

He moved smoothly, inserting himself between the two with a practiced smile, his golden fan gently pushing Gu Zhiwei back.

"Now, now," Wen Shiru’s voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp daggers fixed on Wangchen. "Let us not fight before class begins. Brother Xie is merely... protective. It is a servant’s habit, hard to break."

He emphasized the word servant, a subtle dig meant to remind Wangchen of his place.

"Zhiwei, come," Wen Shiru said, guiding the shocked protagonist away. "We should not disturb Brother Xie’s meditation. Some people prefer the cold."

Gu Zhiwei looked back at Wangchen, confusion and hurt warring on his face. "But... Brother Lin..."

"We will find him later," Wen Shiru promised vaguely, steering him back to the crowd.