Class 9 looked at the peppers. They looked at the crazy look in Ji’an’s eyes.

Slowly, Tang Bo picked up a pepper.

"I... I like spicy food," he whispered.

"Me too," Liu Liu stood up, grabbing a handful of flour. "I can blind them." 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

"YEAH!" The class roared.

The Tournament was coming. The Elites were sharpening their swords. The Protagonists were practicing their forms.

And in Class 9, Lin Ji’an was teaching her army how to make Mustard Gas Bombs out of root vegetables.

The Sect wasn’t ready.

[System Alert: Tournament Arc Initiated.]

[Objective: Survive.]

[Side Quest: Humiliate the Elites using only Kitchenware.]

The night before the Sect Tournament, the Class 9 dormitory was silent, save for the collective snoring of fifty exhausted, terrified disciples.

The air smelled of old wood, dust, and the lingering, spicy aroma of the Exploding Chili Peppers Lin Ji’an had been stockpiling under her bed.

Ji’an lay in her makeshift fortress in the corner of the room. She had pushed three desks together and covered them with a thick quilt, creating a surprisingly comfortable nest.

The Yin-Yang Void Locket hummed softly in her spiritual sea, a constant, comforting weight that kept her secret safe even in her sleep.

She was dreaming. In her dream, she was standing on a mountain of golden fried rice, and it was raining soy sauce. It was a good dream. A peaceful dream.

Until the temperature dropped.

It wasn’t a gradual cooling.

One moment, she was warm under her quilt; the next, her breath was misting in the air, and a sensation of absolute, primal danger prickled the back of her neck.

Ji’an’s eyes snapped open.

She didn’t move. Her body, trained by months of survival in a cultivation world while dodging Protagonists, instinctively froze.

The room was pitch black, shadows stretching like ink across the floor. But right beside her bed, looming over her like a reaper sent from the frozen hells, was a silhouette.

It was tall. It was silent. And two points of faint, icy blue light were glowing where its eyes should be.

"Gah!"

Ji’an scrambled backward, tangling her legs in the quilt. She grabbed the first thing her hand touched, a pillow, and brandished it like a shield.

"Who is it?! I have a spatula, and I know how to use it! Stay back!"

The figure didn’t move. The glowing blue eyes blinked once, then faded back to a dark, obsidian black.

"Young Master," a familiar, low voice whispered. "It is me."

Ji’an paused, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She squinted into the darkness.

The moonlight filtered through the cracks in the wooden shutters, illuminating a sliver of a pale face, high cheekbones, and white robes that seemed to glow in the dark.

"Wangchen?" Ji’an hissed, lowering the pillow. She slumped back against the wall, clutching her chest. "Holy... you nearly gave me a Qi deviation! What are you doing here? It’s the Hour of the Rat! You looked like a ghost come to collect a debt!"

Xie Wangchen didn’t apologize. He stood there, motionless, his presence filling the cramped space. He wasn’t wearing his usual outer cloak.

He was in his inner robes, thin, white silk that draped over his frame, highlighting the broadness of his shoulders and the lean muscle of his chest.

He looked ethereal. And terrifyingly intense.

"I needed to see you," Wangchen said simply.

He took a step forward. The floorboards, which usually creaked under the weight of a mouse, were silent under his feet. He sat down on the edge of her makeshift bed.

The mattress dipped under his weight.

Ji’an stiffened.

This was... close. Too close.

She was wearing her night clothes, a loose, thin gray tunic that hung open at the collar.

Even though the artifact made her appear male, the intimacy of the situation was undeniable. It was the middle of the night.

They were in a dark room. And the future Villain was sitting on her bed, staring at her with eyes that looked hungry.

"You... you needed to see me?" Ji’an stammered, pulling the quilt up to her chin instinctively. "We saw each other this afternoon. We peeled potatoes together. Remember?"

"That was public," Wangchen murmured. His gaze traveled over her face, tracing the line of her jaw, the pulse fluttering in her neck, the messy hair falling into her eyes. "This is private."

The air in the room grew heavy, charged with a static electricity that made the fine hairs on Ji’an’s arms stand up.

"Did... did something happen?" Ji’an asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "Did Elder Qin scold you? Did the Princess come back? Did you run out of mochi?"

Wangchen shook his head slowly. He reached into his sleeve.

"Give me your hand."

It was a command, soft but unyielding.

Ji’an hesitated. Her heart was beating so loud she was sure he could hear it.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Why was she so nervous?

It was just Little Puddle. It was just the kid she fed soup to.

But looking at him now, bathed in shadows, he didn’t look like a kid. He looked like a man who had walked through a blizzard to find a fire.

She slowly extended her hand from under the quilt.

Wangchen took it. His fingers were cold, always cold, but his palm was dry and firm. He turned her hand over, exposing her wrist.

He placed something cool and heavy into her palm.

"This is for you."

Ji’an looked down. It was a bracelet made of translucent, blue ice crystals. Inside each bead, a tiny, white flame seemed to flicker.

"What is this?" she whispered.

"The Frost-Soul Barrier," Wangchen explained, his thumb brushing against her inner wrist, sending a jolt of heat through her veins. "Master gave it to me. It can withstand a full-force attack from a Golden Core cultivator. It activates automatically if your life is in danger."

Ji’an’s eyes widened. "Elder Qin gave this to you? For the tournament?"

"Yes."