"He’s just grateful," she muttered to herself, trying to rationalize the erratic beating of her heart. "He was a slave. No one treated him nicely, and now that I’m treating him nicely, he’s hyper-attached. It’s a trauma response. Yes. That’s it. It’s totally platonic trauma bonding."

She washed her hands in the basin, scrubbing the spot vigorously.

"I am a straight man," she chanted under her breath. "Well, I’m a straight woman pretending to be a straight man. And he is the Villain. Villains don’t have romance arcs. They only have revenge arcs."

But as she looked at the reflection in the water, a face that was flushed and eyes that were too bright, a tiny, treacherous voice in the back of her mind whispered:

But he didn’t look like he was seeking revenge.

"Gah!" Ji’an splashed water on her face. "Focus! Forty-eight hours of cooking! I need to unlock the Dumpling Skill Tree! No more boys! Only buns!"

She dove back into her work, determined to bury the memory of the kiss under a mountain of flour and pork filling.

But deep down, she knew that the dynamic had shifted.

The "little brother" she was raising was growing up, and he was growing into something dangerous, alluring, and impossible to ignore.

[System Note: Host’s Denial Level: 99%. Villain’s Plotting Level: 100%. Romance Subplot: FORCEFULLY ACTIVATED.]

"SHUT UP!!! Don’t make up stupid notifications!" Her yelling was enough to stop the notifications as she pushed all thoughts to the back of her mind.

***

The sun hung high over the Outer Sect, casting a warm, lazy light over the glistening tiles of the Hall of Sustenance.

The air smelled faintly of pine needles and the lingering aroma of the "Forty-Eight Hour Braised Spirit-Pork" that was currently cooling in the pantry.

The heavy oak doors of the kitchen creaked open.

Lin Ji’an stepped out into the sunlight, stretching her arms high above her head until her spine popped satisfyingly.

"Ah! Freedom!" she declared to a passing squirrel. "The sweet scent of fresh air! The glorious feeling of not staring at a dough ball for ten hours straight!"

She took a deep breath, circulating her Qi. The bottleneck at Foundation Establishment Stage 5 was trembling. She felt light, powerful, and mentally scrubbed clean.

As for the incident two days ago, the hand-kissing, the intense staring, the "I will wait for you" vow from a certain ice-block villain, Ji’an had successfully archived it in the mental folder labeled: ’Things We Do Not Analyze Because We Are Mature Adults.’

"He’s just a kid," Ji’an muttered, adjusting her chef’s sash. "Kids get attached. It’s like when a duckling imprints on a rubber boot. I am the boot. He is the duck. It’s biology. Totally normal."

She nodded decisively, her "Single Dog" soul firmly re-establishing its fortress of solitude. In her previous life, she had avoided office romances and public displays of affection like the plague.

She wasn’t about to let a teenage villain break her streak of emotional independence just because he had nice eyelashes.

"Now," she rubbed her hands together, looking toward the distant Medicine Peak. "I need a celebratory ingredient. I wonder if the Sword Lord is guarding the garden today? Maybe I can sneak past him using the ’Barrel Roll’ technique..."

Just as she was plotting her second grand larceny of the week, the ground vibrated.

It wasn’t an earthquake. It was the rhythmic, synchronized stomping of expensive boots.

Ji’an frowned, shading her eyes against the sun.

Marching up the path toward her humble kitchen was a procession that looked like a traveling circus funded by the national treasury.

There were twelve guards in gold-plated armor, holding halberds that were clearly more decorative than functional.

There were two maidservants scattering flower petals, which was ridiculous, considering they were walking on dirt.

And in the center, walking with the swagger of someone who owned the tectonic plates beneath her feet, was the Third Princess, Zhao Ling’er.

She had changed her outfit. Instead of pink, she was now wearing a violent shade of crimson, likely to symbolize her burning vengeance.

But she wasn’t alone.

Walking beside her, with a leisurely grace that made the guards look clumsy, was a young man.

He wore robes of pale lavender silk embroidered with four-clawed dragons. His hair was tied up with a white jade crown. His face was... gentle.

He had the kind of soft, scholarly features that made grandmothers want to pinch his cheeks and enemies lower their guards. His smile was modest, polite, and etched with a permanent, pleasant curve.

[System Alert: New Character Detected!]

[Target: Xiao Yichen (2nd Imperial Prince).]

[Role: Love Interest.]

[Traits: Gentle Smile, Hidden Madness, Restrained Obsession.]

[Warning: Do not let him lend you a pen. Do not let him tie your shoes. If he is closer, straighten up. Run!

Ji’an’s eye twitched.

’Great. Just great. To think that it’s the damned Yandere Prince. Why are they all coming to the kitchen? Is there a Yelp review I don’t know about?’

The procession stopped ten paces from the kitchen door. The guards slammed the butts of their halberds onto the ground in unison.

THUD!

"There he is!" Princess Zhao Ling’er shrieked, pointing a manicured finger at Ji’an. "That’s the one! The disrespectful, arrogant, mud-splattered cook who insulted me!"

She turned to the gentle young man beside her, clutching his sleeve and looking up with tear-filled eyes.

"Second Brother! You have to punish him! He threatened me with a spatula! He stole my... my potential disciple! And he called me a loiterer!"

Xiao Yichen listened patiently, his smile never wavering. He patted the Princess’s hand with the soothing motion one might use on a rabid chihuahua.

"Is that so, Ling’er?" his voice was soft, like warm tea. "A spatula? That sounds quite... domestic."

"It was a weapon!" the Princess insisted. "Look at him! Standing there like he owns the place! Brother, you are the most talented cultivator in the Royal Family. You must teach him the difference between clouds and mud!"