Down in the plaza, Lin Ji’an remained blissfully ignorant of the political and romantic war she had just sparked.

She was just incredibly happy that she didn’t have to walk another step on her own, letting herself relax entirely into the cold, unwavering support of her favorite villain.

***

The silence that gripped the Assembly Plaza was so absolute that one could hear the rustle of the silk banners flapping in the high-altitude wind.

The collective gaze of thousands of disciples, elders, and deacons was locked onto the impossible tableau unfolding in the center of the white stone courtyard.

Xie Wangchen, the terrifying,

unapproachable Ice Genius of the Eternal Cloud Peak, was currently acting as a human support beam for a soot-covered, exhausted chef from Class 9.

The possessive, ferocious grip he had on Lin Ji’an’s arms was a blatant warning to the universe to keep its distance.

But the universe, in this particular cultivation novel, had a very poor sense of self-preservation. Or rather, it had a Protagonist who possessed zero situational awareness.

"Brother Liiiiin!"

A voice, bright, frantic, and entirely devoid of the required somber dignity of an Inner Sect elite, shattered the silence.

From the high jade terrace, a brilliant streak of pure, blinding golden light launched itself into the air.

Unlike Wangchen’s controlled, silent meteor drop, this descent was chaotic, flailing, and blindingly radiant.

Gu Zhiwei hit the plaza floor with a heavy, ungraceful thud that cracked a tile. He didn’t even pause to regain his balance.

Gu Zhiwei scrambled forward, his pristine white robes instantly collecting the dust of the plaza, acting entirely like a frantic baby chick that had finally located its mother hen after a terrifying thunderstorm.

"Brother Lin! You’re hurt! You’re looking so pale!" Gu Zhiwei babbled, sliding the last few feet on his knees until he was right in front of Ji’an and Wangchen.

His golden eyes were wide with genuine, unadulterated panic, scanning Ji’an’s soot-stained face and the tattered, frosty edges of her gray uniform.

He didn’t hesitate or ask for permission. Gu Zhiwei thrust both of his hands forward, pressing his palms directly against the center of Ji’an’s chest.

Instantly, the temperature around Wangchen plummeted to a lethal, apocalyptic level.

CRACK!

The stone beneath Wangchen’s boots instantly crystallized into solid ice, spider-webbing outward toward Gu Zhiwei’s knees.

Wangchen’s dark eyes flared with a murderous, demonic blue light. His grip on Ji’an’s arms tightened convulsively, his right hand twitching toward the hilt of Winter’s Sigh.

The instinct to sever the Holy Son’s hands at the wrists for daring to touch what was his was a physical, agonizing roar in his blood.

But Wangchen didn’t draw his sword.

With a supreme, agonizing exertion of his iron will, the Ice Genius forced his killing intent back down his throat.

He was a monster of jealousy, yes, but he was also a tactical genius.

Wangchen could see the faint, gray pallor of Ji’an’s skin. He could feel the weak, sluggish thrum of Ji’an’s pulse under his fingertips.

The Ghost Cultivator’s necrotic Yin energy had violently excavated the Yang Qi from Ji’an’s meridians.

The sect’s ambient healing arrays were too passive, too slow to replenish the deep, spiritual deficit before the upcoming sparring matches. Ji’an’s "battery" was critically flashing at one percent.

And directly in front of them was the Holy Son, the possessor of the Flawless Sun Spirit Root, the ultimate, limitless battery of pure, revitalizing Yang energy in the entire mortal realm.

"Heal him," Wangchen growled, his voice vibrating with a terrifying mix of absolute threat and reluctant permission. He stared at Gu Zhiwei, his eyes promising a slow, painful death if the Holy Son made a single mistake. "Do it quickly. And if you dare to harm him, I will freeze your heart."

"I won’t hurt Brother Lin! I promise!" Gu Zhiwei didn’t even register the threat. He was entirely focused on Ji’an.

A brilliant, sun-gold aura erupted from Gu Zhiwei’s palms. The pure Sun Qi flooded into Ji’an’s chest, rushing through her depleted meridians like a river of warm honey.

It was exactly what her Harmonious Five-Grain Constitution needed. The lingering, icy tendrils of the ghost’s death-aura were instantly incinerated by the holy light.

Ji’an gasped as the rush of energy hit her system. It was intoxicating.

The dizzying vertigo vanished, the color rushed back into her cheeks, and the heavy, leaden weight in her limbs lifted.

She felt like a broken, discarded toy that had just been plugged directly into a nuclear reactor, while simultaneously being held together by the cool, unyielding, indestructible frame of Xie Wangchen behind her.

"Whoa," Ji’an breathed out, blinking rapidly as her vision cleared. "Okay, Zhiwei, easy on the wattage. You’re going to overcharge me."

"Are you okay? Does it hurt? Should I push more Qi to your dantian?!" Gu Zhiwei babbled, completely ignoring decorum, his hands hovering frantically over her.

"I’m fine, I’m fine! My liver is adequately sunny, thank you," Ji’an laughed, a genuine, relieved sound that finally broke the tension in her chest.

She was about to playfully shove Gu Zhiwei’s shoulder to get him to back off, but before she could, two more figures dropped from the sky, landing on either side of the golden retriever with practiced, elegant grace.

The crowd, which had been holding its collective breath, let out a massive, synchronized gasp of pure disbelief.

Because it wasn’t just the Ice Demon and the Holy Son anymore.

Wen Shiru, the Merchant Prince, folded his golden fan with a sharp snap, his usually perfectly styled hair slightly ruffled from the descent.

He stepped forward, his sharp, calculating eyes immediately scanning Ji’an from head to toe, cataloging every tear in the fabric, every smudge of dirt, assessing the "damage" to his most fascinating investment.

"A truly spectacular performance, Brother Lin," Wen Shiru commented, his voice smooth and dripping with forced casualness, though his grip on his fan was white-knuckled. "Though I must admit, watching you play tag with a Golden Core ghost was terrible for my blood pressure. I nearly lost a fortune betting on your survival."