Xie Wangchen.

He had not waited for the Elders to open the floor officially, nor walked down the ceremonial stairs.

The Ice Genius had simply stepped off the fifty-foot-high jade terrace and dropped like a meteor, using his Flawless Ice Qi to cushion his descent.

He stood there, a towering pillar of white Ice-Silk and absolute, terrifying authority.

Wangchen didn’t even look at Mo Wuchen. He completely, utterly ignored the assassin, treating the dangerous Love Interest like nothing more than an annoying speck of dust that had dared to float into his airspace.

Wangchen turned his back to the crowd, his dark, bottomless eyes locking instantly onto Lin Ji’an.

The terrifying, murderous aura that had frozen the plaza floor vanished the precise millisecond he laid eyes on her.

The monster disappeared, replaced by a devotion so intense and unfiltered that it made the surrounding air hum.

"You are hurt, Brother Lin," Wangchen said.

His voice wasn’t loud, but in the sudden, terrified silence of the plaza, it carried.

It was a rough, gravelly whisper, choked with an emotion that the rest of the sect had never heard from the stoic Ice Demon.

Ji’an blinked, looking up at the pristine, flawless figure of her ’Little Puddle’.

Compared to her, who was covered in soot, smelling of dead ghosts, and leaning heavily on Su Wan, Wangchen looked like a descending deity. His silver hairpin gleamed in the sun, and his robes were immaculate.

"I’m not hurt," Ji’an managed a weak, lopsided grin, her heart suddenly performing a strange, fluttering acrobatics routine against her ribs. "Just... my spiritual battery is on one percent. The ghost had a really greedy straw."

Wangchen didn’t smile.

He took a step forward, completely disregarding Su Wan, who squeaked and instinctively stepped back, intimidated by the sheer weight of his presence.

Without asking for permission, Wangchen reached out. His hands were cool, firm, and incredibly gentle as they cupped Ji’an’s elbows, smoothly taking her entire weight away from the White Lotus.

He didn’t pull her into a hug; the thousands of watching eyes prevented that, but the way he held her, standing so close that Ji’an could smell the crisp scent of pine and snow on his clothes, was an intimately possessive claim that broadcast to the entire sect.

"You survived, Brother Lin," Wangchen whispered, his thumbs gently stroking the fabric of her torn sleeves, his eyes frantically scanning her face for any hidden injuries. "You kept your promise and came back."

Ji’an felt a sudden, inexplicable rush of heat flood her cheeks.

It was ridiculous.

She was a mentally grown woman, a hardened chef who had just battered a centuries-old corpse to death. She didn’t blush or get shy so easily.

But looking at the naked, burning relief in Wangchen’s eyes, realizing that this terrifying prodigy had likely been standing on that terrace for three days, agonizing over her safety, ready to tear the world apart if she fell, it hit her straight in the chest.

She suddenly felt hyper-aware of how close they were and felt the coolness of his hands seeping through her sleeves, soothing the burning ache in her meridians.

She saw the way his dark eyes were solely, exclusively focused on her, completely blind to the thousands of people staring at them.

’He’s... he’s really too much,’ Ji’an thought, a strange, fluttery panic rising in her stomach. ’I need to deflect. I need to activate the arrogant chef protocol before my face catches on fire!’

Ji’an cleared her throat, forcing herself to stand a little straighter, leaning into his grip just enough to mask her exhaustion.

She tilted her chin up, a familiar, smug, entirely quirky grin spreading across her soot-stained face.

"Of course I came back, you dramatic popsicle," Ji’an teased, her voice regaining its usual arrogant lilt. She reached out with one finger and poked him squarely in the center of his pristine white chest. "Did you see me on the big screen? I beat a Golden Core ghost with a cooking utensil! I practically carried the entire Lower Realm on my back!"

Wangchen’s eyes softened. The rigid, terrifying tension in his shoulders finally melted away as he looked at her smug, dirty face, and a small, breathtakingly genuine smile graced his lips.

"I saw," Wangchen murmured softly, his gaze dropping briefly to her lips before flicking back to her eyes. "You were magnificent, Brother Lin."

"Don’t flatter me, it won’t get you extra portions," Ji’an scoffed playfully, though her heart was currently beating a frantic rhythm that completely belied her casual tone. "I’m exhausted, I’m starving, and my spatula needs polishing. You’d better have a mountain of snacks waiting for me, Xie Wangchen, or I am going to be very, very grumpy!"

"I have them," Wangchen promised, his voice a low, devoted vow. "Everything you want. I have it."

He didn’t let go of her arms. He simply turned slightly, keeping Ji’an securely shielded by his body, and cast a singular, dead-eyed glare over his shoulder at Mo Wuchen.

The message was clear, icy, and absolute. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

Take one step closer, and I will freeze your heart in your chest.

Mo Wuchen stood frozen in his tracks.

The assassin’s gentle smile faltered, replaced by a dark, furious scowl as he realized he had been entirely outmaneuvered. The opening was gone, and the fortress walls were back up, guarded by a dragon of ice.

Up on the viewing terrace, the Sect Leader and the Elders were speechless.

The most talented, aloof, and heartless disciple of the generation was currently standing in the middle of the plaza, acting as a personal crutch for a Class 9 chef, looking at the boy with an expression of such profound devotion that it defied all logic of the cultivation world.

"Well," Xiao Yichen, the Second Prince, laughed softly from the balcony, snapping his fan shut. "It seems the sparring tournament is going to be incredibly violent this year. The Ice Demon has found his treasure, and he is daring the rest of the world to try and touch it."