His gaze was intense, tracking the movement of her hands, the way she bit her lip when she concentrated.

"Brother Xie," Gu Zhiwei popped up next to him, holding the spinach again. "You’re so lucky. You get to eat Brother Lin’s food every day."

Wangchen turned his head slowly. He looked at Gu Zhiwei.

"It is not luck," Wangchen said coldly. "It is a privilege earned by loyalty."

"I’m also very loyal!" Gu Zhiwei protested. "Every day, I peeled potatoes for Brother Lin diligently!"

"You cubed them," Wangchen scoffed. "Amateur."

"You...!" Gu Zhiwei puffed up his cheeks. "I bet you can’t peel them better!"

Wangchen narrowed his eyes. "Is that a challenge?"

"Yes!"

Ten minutes later, the kitchen staff watched in awe as the Holy Son and the Ice Genius engaged in a high-stakes potato-peeling contest.

Sparks flew and Ice shards scattered.

"Faster!" Ji’an shouted, stirring the pot. "If you ruin the texture, you both eat raw onions!"

[System Alert: Villain and Protagonist bonding over... manual labor? Fate is weird.]

The sun set, and the kitchen quieted down. Gu Zhiwei had been kicked out by Lin Ji’an, who was showing clear signs of dark circles under his eyes.

It was just Ji’an and Wangchen now.

They sat on the roof of the kitchen, looking at the stars. They shared a plate of Sweet Rice Cakes.

"The Tournament starts in three days," Wangchen said quietly.

"Yeah," Ji’an leaned back on her hands. "Nervous?"

"No." Wangchen looked at his hand, watching the moonlight dance on his pale skin. "I am going to win."

"Confident," Ji’an grinned. "I like it."

"I have to win," Wangchen turned to her. His eyes were dark pools of gravity. "Master said... the winner of the Inner Sect Tournament gets a wish. A request granted from the Sect Leader himself."

"Oh? What are you gonna wish for? A legendary sword? A pile of gold?"

"I am going to wish for a transfer," Wangchen said.

Ji’an blinked. "Transfer? To where?"

"Personnel transfer," Wangchen said. "I am going to request that Lin Ji’an, Disciple of Class 9, be assigned as the personal... manager... of the Eternal Cloud Peak."

Ji’an froze. "Manager? You mean... move in with you?"

"Elder Qin’s peak has the best kitchen," Wangchen reasoned, his ears turning slightly pink. "It has ice caves for storage. It has rare herbs. It is wasted on him. If you are there... You can cook whatever you want. And..."

He hesitated.

"...and no one can bully you. No Princesses, no Young Lords. Just... us."

Ji’an looked at him.

She saw the vulnerability beneath the arrogance. He was trying to build a castle for her.

He was trying to use his strength not to conquer the world, but to create a safe zone where she could just be herself.

It was... dangerously sweet.

"You realize," Ji’an said softly, albeit she was teasing him as she whispered into his ear, "that if you do that, everyone will think we’re... You know. Cultivation partners."

"Let them think," Wangchen said fiercely. "I do not care about their thoughts. I only care about where you sleep."

He reached out and covered her hand with his.

"Three days," he whispered. "Watch me. I will defeat them all. For you."

Ji’an didn’t pull her hand away this time. She squeezed back.

"Okay, Little Puddle. Win the shiny trophy. But don’t get hurt. If you come back bleeding, I’m charging you extra for the special nourishment soup."

.

.

.

While the two enjoyed their rooftop moment, the rest of the sect was buzzing.

At the Merchant Guild Branch, Wen Shiru was sitting behind a desk piled high with spirit stones.

"The betting pool is open!" Wen Shiru announced to a line of disciples. "Odds on Gu Zhiwei winning: 2 to 1. Odds on Lu Jianheng: 3 to 1. Odds on Xie Wangchen: 5 to 1."

"What about Lin Ji’an? That cripple over whom Elder Qin’s disciple is so protective," a disciple asked jokingly.

Wen Shiru paused. He tapped his fan.

"Lin Ji’an is in Class 9. Class 9 usually gets eliminated in the first round of the Battle Royale."

He smiled, a calculating glint in his eye.

"However... I will put personal odds on him. 100 to 1. Any takers?"

"I’ll take that bet!" Lu Jianheng slammed a bag of money on the table. He had just walked in, looking grumpy. "I bet he survives the first round. That roach is hard to catch."

"Interesting," Wen Shiru noted it down. "The Sword Lord is betting on the Cook."

Back in the Class 9 dorms, panic had set in.

"We have to participate?!" Tang Bo shrieked, reading the official notice. "The ’Battle Royale’ round requires all disciples to enter the illusion realm? We’re going to die! We’re fodder!"

"I don’t want to fight!" Liu Liu cried, clutching her makeup bag. "I’ll break a nail! I’ll break a face!"

They turned to the back of the room, where Lin Ji’an was calmly packing a massive backpack.

"Boss Lin!" Tang Bo pleaded. "What do we do? You’re the only one who knows how to fight! Save us!" 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

Ji’an zipped up the bag.

"Save you?" She stood up, hoisting the bag onto her shoulders. It clanked with the sound of pots, pans, and dried herbs.

She looked at her motley crew of misfits.

These were the slackers. The rejects. The disciples that were mocked as "trash."

"Listen up!" Ji’an shouted, channeling her inner general.

"The Inner Sect thinks we are mud. They think we are points to be farmed. They think Class 9 is a joke."

She grabbed her Black Iron Spatula and pointed it at the ceiling.

"But they forgot one thing. We have something they don’t."

"Talent?" Tang Bo asked weakly.

"No," Ji’an grinned, a feral, chaotic light in her eyes. "We have spices. We have dirty tricks. And we have absolutely no shame!"

She kicked open a crate of Exploding Chili Peppers she had "borrowed" from the garden.

"Tonight, we prep! We aren’t going into that arena to fight with swords"