Lu Jianheng stiffened. A faint flush of embarrassment colored his neck, but he crushed it instantly.

"I am not hiding!" he snapped. "I am... meditating. The Sword Dao requires communion with nature. Unlike you, a rat stealing from the sect’s larder."

He hopped down from the rock, landing silently. He walked toward her, his hand resting on his sword hilt.

"Hand over the bag," Lu Jianheng ordered, his chin lifted. "And accompany me to the Disciplinary Hall. If you confess, I might ask them to only break one of your arms."

Ji’an looked at the bag. It contained the ingredients for tonight’s Spicy Basil Chicken.

"No," she said.

Lu Jianheng blinked. He wasn’t used to hearing that word. "What?"

"I said no. I cooked... I mean, I worked hard for these." Ji’an stepped back, calculating the exit route. "Besides, you have no proof. Maybe these are my own herbs I brought from home to plant here."

"Preposterous!" Lu Jianheng drew his sword. Shing.

The blade was beautiful, sleek, silver, and humming with a terrifyingly sharp Qi.

"You are an Outer Disciple," Lu Jianheng sneered, noting her gray robes. "You have no honor. I will teach you the price of greed."

He didn’t intend to kill her. He just wanted to scare the "thief." He unleashed a simple thrust, the Piercing Wind Strike. It was fast, aimed at her shoulder to disarm her.

To a normal Outer Disciple, this strike would be invisible.

But Lin Ji’an was now at Foundation Establishment Stage 5. And she dealt with boiling oil and flying knives daily.

To her, the sword looked... slow.

"Too rigid," she critiqued instinctively.

She didn’t draw a weapon. She reached into her belt and pulled out her trusty Black Iron Spatula.

CLANG!

Lu Jianheng’s eyes widened in shock.

His sword, a masterpiece forged by a Grandmaster, had been stopped.

By a piece of kitchenware.

"What on earth..." Lu Jianheng stared at the spatula pressing against the flat of his blade.

"You telegraph your moves," Ji’an said, pushing him back. "Your shoulder drops before you strike. It’s like watching dough rise. I can see it happening from a mile away."

Lu Jianheng stumbled back, his face turning red with humiliation. A servant? A cook? Criticizing his sword art?

"You dare mock me?!"

His aura exploded. The "Tsundere" temper inside him flared. He forgot about holding back.

"Take this! Cloud-Parting Slash!"

He swung the sword in a wide, horizontal arc, releasing a wave of Sword Qi capable of cutting a boulder in half.

Ji’an didn’t dodge. She channeled her Five-Grain Qi.

To her, the Sword Qi looked like a wave of heat. And how do you deal with heat? You stir-fry it.

She spun the spatula in her hand. ’Technique: Wok Toss!’

She struck the incoming Sword Qi at a precise 45-degree angle.

Ping!

The wave of energy was deflected upward, slicing harmlessly through a tree branch above them.

"What?!" Lu Jianheng gasped. "You... you parried Sword Intent with... with that thing?"

"It’s a spatula," Ji’an said, assuming a combat stance, which looked suspiciously like a batting stance. "And it’s seasoned. Unlike you."

Lu Jianheng’s brain short-circuited.

Seasoned? unlike me?

Was he calling me... green? Unripe?

For a sword maniac like Lu Jianheng, this was the ultimate insult. But it was also the ultimate turn-on. He had been bored in the Inner Sect. The instructors were too polite because he is the heir to the sect’s next generation, while the other disciples were too weak.

But this... this thief with the spatula...

A wild grin spread across Lu Jianheng’s face. His eyes, usually cold and judgmental, burned with a fanatical light.

"Good. Very good," Lu Jianheng laughed, tightening his grip. "I haven’t met someone who could block my strike in the Outer Sect. What is your name, Thief?"

"I’m not giving you my name so you can report me," Ji’an rolled her eyes. "Just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone you got beaten by a kitchen utensil."

"Beaten?!" Lu Jianheng roared. "We have only just begun!"

He charged again.

This time, it was a flurry of blows. Stab. Slash. Parry. Riposte.

Ji’an was forced to retreat. Lu Jianheng was, after all, a genius. His speed was increasing, his strikes becoming more fluid.

But Ji’an held her own ground.

Clang-Clang-Clang-Clang!

The sound of metal on metal rang through the garden like a chaotic dinner service.

"Your footwork is sloppy!" Ji’an shouted, dodging a strike that cut a lock of her hair. "You’re overextending! Are you trying to stab me or hug me?"

"Shut up!" Lu Jianheng yelled, slashing at her legs. "Stop talking about my form!"

"I can’t help it! It’s messy! It’s like a soup with too many ingredients!"

Ji’an blocked a downward strike with the spatula, locking his sword in place. They were face-to-face now, inches apart.

Lu Jianheng looked into her eyes. He expected to see fear. Instead, he saw annoyance. And... focus. Her eyes were clear, dark, and beautiful.

He felt the heat radiating from her body, the pure, fiery Yang energy of her cultivation.

His heart skipped a beat.

’He is strong,’ Lu Jianheng realized, his breath hitching. ’He is rude. He is a thief. But... his foundation is solid as a rock. And his eyes...’

For a split second, the "Sword Maniac" faltered.

’Why is he looking at me like that? Is he mocking me? Or is he... analyzing me?’

Taking advantage of his distraction, Ji’an smirked.

"Pocket Flour!"

She reached into her pouch with her free hand and threw a handful of the System’s Free Weekly Flour right into his face.

"Gah!" Lu Jianheng sputtered, blinded by the white cloud. He stumbled back, coughing, looking like a breaded chicken cutlet. "My eyes! What is this? Poison?!"

"It’s gluten!" Ji’an shouted, turning to run. "Very dangerous for people with fragile egos!"

"You... get back here!" Lu Jianheng wiped the flour from his eyes, furiously blinking. He saw her gray robes disappearing into the tree line.