She was a transmigrated chef with a spatula, a pocket full of roasted melon seeds, and zero respect for the stuffy, suffocating decorum of high-society cultivators.

The glowing holographic bracket hovering above the Jade Terrace shifted, the golden runes rearranging themselves to announce the next bout in Ring Four.

[Candidate #1: Xie Wangchen (Class 1)]

VS.

[Candidate #12: Lei Tian (Class 2)]

A heavy, palpable hush fell over the massive spectator stands. The murmurs died in the throats of thousands of disciples.

Everyone remembered Xie Wangchen’s first match.

They remembered the terrifying, apocalyptic dome of absolute zero that had paralyzed the Shadow Assassin, Mo Wuchen, launching him through a reinforced stone wall like a discarded toy.

The Ice Genius of the Eternal Cloud Peak had cemented his reputation not just as a prodigy, but as a ruthless, unfeeling monster.

From the eastern stairs, Lei Tian ascended into the ring.

Lei Tian was the undisputed tyrant of Class 2. He possessed a rare, highly volatile Violent Lightning Spirit Root.

He was tall, heavily muscled, and wore a sleeveless dark purple tunic that displayed the jagged, crackling tattoos of storm runes etched into his biceps.

Sparks of actual, blue-white electricity arced between his knuckles as he cracked them, his jaw set in a determined, arrogant sneer.

He was powerful, he was fast, and he was incredibly proud.

"I am not Mo Wuchen," Lei Tian bellowed, his voice amplified by the crackle of thunder in his chest, echoing across the silent plaza. He drew a pair of heavy, conductive iron hook-swords. "I do not rely on parlor tricks and shadows! I am the storm! Let us see if your ice can withstand the wrath of the heavens, Xie Wangchen!"

The crowd offered a tentative, nervous cheer. Lei Tian was brave; they gave him that.

Foolish, perhaps, but brave.

From the western stairs, the temperature plummeted.

Xie Wangchen stepped onto the black spirit-stone of Ring Four.

He moved with that familiar, terrifying grace, his pristine white Ice-Silk robes fluttering around him like falling snow.

His face was a flawless, carved mask of pale jade, completely devoid of emotion. His dark, bottomless eyes fixed on Lei Tian, but they didn’t register the lightning cultivator as a threat.

They registered him as an obstacle— a minor delay in his schedule.

Wangchen stopped in the center of the ring. He didn’t draw Winter’s Sigh. He let his arms hang loosely at his sides, the ambient moisture in the air instantly crystallizing into diamond dust around his shoulders.

"Draw your weapon!" Lei Tian roared, insulted by the blatant display of disrespect. Electricity surged down his arms, wreathing his hook-swords in blinding, jagged arcs of lightning. "Do not underestimate me, Ice Demon! I will scorch that arrogant look right off your—"

"GO GET HIM, LITTLE PUDDLE!"

The shout ripped through the dead silence of the Jade Terrace with the subtlety of a frying pan hitting a gong.

It was loud and deeply, aggressively enthusiastic, coming from the competitor’s benches on the sidelines of Ring One.

Every single head in the arena, including the referee, the Peak Masters in the VIP pavilion, and the combatants in the other rings, snapped toward the source of the noise.

Standing on top of a solid stone bench, waving her Black Iron Spatula in the air like a deranged flag, was Lin Ji’an.

She wasn’t using Qi to amplify her voice; she was using the sheer, lung-busting volume of a head chef who was used to screaming over the roar of commercial exhaust fans and sizzling woks.

"FREEZE HIM SOLID, WANGCHEN!" Ji’an hollered, cupping her free hand around her mouth. "SHOW HIM THE DAO OF THE DEEP FREEZER! TURN THAT SPARK PLUG INTO A POPSICLE! IF YOU WIN IN UNDER A MINUTE, I’M MAKING BRAISED PORK BELLY FOR DINNER! WITH THE CRISPY SKIN!"

The silence that followed this outburst was so profound it bordered on the supernatural.

In the VIP pavilion, Elder Qin Changxu closed his eyes. For the second time that day, a priceless celadon teacup turned to dust in his trembling grip.

’Little Puddle, huh...’ Elder Qin’s soul wept. ’The terror of the Eternal Cloud Peak... the Flawless Ice Root prodigy disciple... is being cheered on with the nickname of a stagnant body of water, and being bribed with pork? Kill me, just kill me now. Let the heavens strike me down now so I do not have to endure this humiliation!’

In the spectator stands, the disciples were paralyzed with secondhand embarrassment and absolute terror.

"Did... did that Chef from class 9 just yell at the Ice Demon?" a senior disciple whispered, his face pale.

"He called him a puddle! He’s definitely going to die! That demon Xie Wangchen is going to impale him on a glacier!"

"But wait... did he say braised pork belly? Is the Ice Demon food-motivated?!"

Down on the plaza floor, the other Protagonists were having equally visceral reactions.

Gu Zhiwei was bouncing on his heels, clapping his hands. "Wow! Brother Lin is so supportive! I wish he would yell about pork belly for me, too!"

Lu Jianheng drove the butt of his scabbard into the stone floor, his face flushing with intense, undeniable jealousy. "Shameless! Undignified! A true cultivator does not require culinary bribes to perform in the ring!" But he couldn’t help but wonder what the recipe was for the crispy skin?

Xiao Yichen hid his dark, amused chuckle behind his folding fan.

At the same time, Hu Yanlie let out a low, vibrating growl of annoyance, glaring at the Ice Genius who had suddenly monopolized his prey’s attention.

Inside Ring Four, Lei Tian looked at the gray-robed maniac standing on the bench, and then looked back at Xie Wangchen.

"Is this a joke?" Lei Tian snarled, the lightning around his swords flaring aggressively. "Your little pet cook is making a mockery of this sacred arena! I’ll silence him after I deal with you!"

It was the worst thing Lei Tian could have possibly said.