"System," she murmured contentedly. "Play some relaxing background music. Maybe ’Bamboo Flute in the Rain’."

[System: Playing ’Bamboo Flute in the Rain’.]

The soft, melodic notes drifted through her mind. Ji’an smiled, rubbing the rich lather into her scalp. This was the life a Young Master of her lever should have!

She would soak for an hour, sneak back to the kitchen, make a midnight snack for Wangchen, and call it a day.

She was just about to rinse the suds from her face when the music stopped abruptly.

SCREECH.

A sound like a tornado siren ripped through her skull.

[WARNING! WARNING!]

[CRITICAL ALERT!]

[Target: Xie Wangchen.]

[Blackening Value Spiking: 40%... 55%... 68%!]

[Rate of Increase: VERTICAL.]

"Gah!"

Ji’an jerked upright in shock. Her hands slipped. The bar of soap shot out of her grip like a projectile.

A wave of suds cascaded down her forehead, straight into her open eyes, up her nose, and into her mouth.

"Pfft! Cough! Ack!"

She flailed in the water, blinded and choking on the taste of lavender and betrayal.

"System! Turn it off! My eyes! My throat!"

[System: Alert! Villain is entering Homicidal Rage State! Location: The Cyan Bamboo Path. Cause: Severe Provocation.]

[Blackening Value: 75%... 80%!]

[Projected Outcome: Massacre of Royal Bloodline -> Execution of Xie Wangchen -> Mission Failure -> Host Death.]

"Massacre of... what?!" Ji’an gasped, wiping the soap from her stinging eyes with trembling, wet hands. "Who is he massacring? We’ve been here for three days!"

She didn’t wait for an answer. She scrambled out of the pool, shivering as the cold mountain air hit her wet skin.

There was no time to dry off. The System’s countdown was flashing red in her vision like a doomsday clock.

82%... 85%...

"Damn it! Damn it! Can’t I have five minutes?!"

She grabbed her gray servant robes and threw them on over her wet body. The coarse fabric stuck to her skin instantly, damp and uncomfortable.

Her hair hung in soaking wet rat-tails, dripping down her back and soaking the collar of her robe. She didn’t even have time to put on her socks; she shoved her wet feet directly into her boots.

She grabbed her Black Iron Spatula from the rock.

"Hold on, Little Puddle! Don’t kill anyone important until I get there!"

She activated Shadow Step, exploding into a blur of wet gray motion, tearing through the forest toward the red marker on her mental map.

A mile away, on the scenic path that connected the Outer Sect to the Guest Pavilions, the air had turned so cold that the bamboo leaves were frosted over with white rime.

Xie Wangchen stood in the middle of the path. He was surrounded.

Blocking his way were four burly guards clad in gold-trimmed armor, the private guard of the Imperial Family.

Behind them stood a young woman who looked like a walking confectionery store.

She wore layers of pink and gold silk, weighed down by enough jade jewelry to sink a small boat. Her face was pretty in a doll-like way, but currently, it was twisted into an expression of spoiled, arrogant fury.

This was the Third Princess, Zhao Ling’er.

A minor antagonist, known for collecting "pretty things."

She had been taking a stroll, bored out of her mind, when she spotted the white-robed disciple walking back from the meditation caves.

She had never seen a man so cold, so beautiful, so... breakable.

She wanted him. Not for marriage, he was just a disciple, after all, but as a personal attendant. Someone to pour her tea and look pretty while she scolded him.

But the "pretty thing" had refused.

"I said," Princess Zhao snapped, tapping her fan against her palm. "You should feel honored. I am the Third Princess of the Empire! My father donates ten million spirit stones to this Sect every year! If I want a disciple to carry my palanquin, the Sect Leader himself would agree!"

She looked Wangchen up and down, her eyes devouring his face. "You have an Ice Spirit Root? Perfect. My summers are hot. You can cool my palace."

Xie Wangchen didn’t move. His hand rested on Winter’s Sigh. The white tassel Lin Ji’an had given him fluttered in the freezing wind radiating from his body.

"I have a master," Wangchen said, his voice devoid of any human warmth. "And it is not you."

"Your Master?" The Princess scoffed. "Elder Qin? He’s a hermit. He won’t care if I borrow you for a few years. Just come with me. I’ll give you resources. Gold. Pills. Anything is better than rotting in a cave."

"My loyalty," Wangchen said slowly, enunciating every word, "belongs to Lin Ji’an."

The Princess blinked. "Who?"

She turned to her guards. "Who is Lin Ji’an? Is he an Inner Sect genius? A direct disciple?"

One of the guards, who had done some reconnaissance, whispered in her ear. "Your Highness... Lin Ji’an is... the kitchen worker. The one with the Chaotic Spirit Root. He’s... just a nobody."

The Princess’s face went blank. Then, it flushed a violent, insulted red.

She threw her head back and laughed. It was a shrill, grating sound.

"A cook?!" she shrieked. "You rejected me, the Princess of the Empire, for a cook? A trash disciple who scrubs pots?"

She stepped forward, pointing her fan at Wangchen’s nose.

"Are you insane? Or are you just low-born trash yourself? I heard you were a slave before. Once a slave, always a slave, I suppose. You prefer the smell of grease and garbage over the fragrance of royalty?"

Wangchen’s eyes narrowed. The insults to himself meant nothing. He was used to them.

But then, she continued.

"That Lin Ji’an," she sneered, curling her lip in disgust. "I saw him at the ceremony. What kind of Young master is he? He looked like a beggar wrapped in silk. A chaotic root waste who relies on his servant to pass the exam? He’s nothing but a leech, a parasite, a piece of mud that stained the Sect’s floor."

Crack.

The stone beneath Wangchen’s feet shattered.