Up in the VIP pavilion, Elder Qin Changxu slowly unclasped his hands. He looked at the giant ice lotus.

He noted the structural integrity, the flawless Qi control, and the absolute dominance of the technique.

"Ahem," Elder Qin coughed delicately into his fist, turning to the stunned Sect Leader. "As I was saying. My disciple is highly motivated. His application of the Dao is... uniquely tailored."

The Alchemy Peak Master rolled her eyes so hard she nearly pulled a muscle. "He is highly motivated by dinner, Changxu. Stop pretending you planned this. Your disciple has been domesticated."

Down in the plaza, Xie Wangchen didn’t walk to the victor’s waiting area. He didn’t acknowledge the cheering girls screaming his name from the stands.

He walked down the stairs of Ring Four and marched in a straight, unwavering line directly toward Ring One’s sidelines.

As he approached, the disciples surrounding Lin Ji’an instantly parted, practically scrambling over each other to get out of the Ice Demon’s path.

Ji’an hopped down from her bench, dusting off her robes. She looked at the incredibly handsome, incredibly lethal boy walking toward her, his dark eyes fixed solely on her face.

"Show-off," Ji’an snorted, though she couldn’t hide the wide, genuine grin on her face.

Wangchen stopped right in front of her. He was close enough that the residual cold radiating from his robes combated the heat of the midday sun.

"I won the match under a minute," Wangchen stated.

His voice was flat, calm, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of eager anticipation. He looked down at her, his dark eyes practically glowing with the need for validation.

"Yeah, yeah, you were fast. That guy Lei Tian looked like a bug in a resin paperweight up there," Ji’an chuckled, shaking her head.

She reached into her deep, spatial-bag-enhanced sleeve. She bypassed the standard medicinal pills and pulled out a small, wax-paper-wrapped square.

She tossed it to him.

Wangchen caught it with the reflexes of a master swordsman, then unwrapped it carefully.

Inside was a piece of Honey-Glazed Spirit-Plum Pastry. It was perfectly baked, the pastry flaky and golden, the center oozing with sweet, tart jam.

"Appetizer," Ji’an declared, crossing her arms and leaning back on her spatula. "The pork belly takes three hours to braise properly. You’ll have to wait until the tournament is over for the main course. Try not to freeze anyone else into abstract art while we wait, okay?"

Wangchen looked at the pastry in his hand. To the rest of the sect, it was just a snack. To him, it was a medal of honor.

It was proof that he had succeeded. Proof that she was looking at him.

He took a slow, deliberate bite. The sweet, warm flavor exploded on his tongue, a stark, beautiful contrast to the cold, sterile ice of his cultivation.

"It is acceptable," Wangchen murmured softly, though his eyes closed for a fraction of a second in pure, unadulterated bliss.

A few yards away, standing near the entrance to Ring Two, Lu Jianheng watched the exchange.

The Sword Lord’s grip on his scabbard was so tight his leather gloves were groaning in protest.

’He gave him a pastry. He gave Xie Wangchen a pastry for doing a parlor trick with some frozen water.’ Lu Jianheng’s internal monologue was a tempest of offended pride. ’I defeated my opponent with flawless technique! I demonstrated superior martial discipline! Where is my pastry?!’

Lu Jianheng aggressively kicked a small pebble across the plaza, his scowl deepening. He silently vowed that in his next match, he would defeat his opponent in three seconds.

Or in two seconds!

Whatever it took to get the chef to look at him with that same, blindingly bright grin.

On the upper balcony, Xiao Yichen fanned himself slowly, watching Wangchen eat the pastry. The Second Prince’s gentle smile was razor-sharp.

"How territorial," Yichen mused softly to himself. "The little ice dragon is marking his hoard. He performs for treats, like a well-trained hound. But a hound that only listens to one master is a dangerous thing if that master is ever... removed."

Yichen’s eyes flicked to Lin Ji’an, his sadistic curiosity fully piqued. He wanted to see what would happen if he pushed that boundary.

He wanted to see how the Ice Demon would react if the cook’s attention was forcibly redirected.

And from the shadows beneath the grandstands, Hu Yanlie let out a low, rumbling growl. The Beast Lord’s golden eyes tracked Ji’an’s every movement, his predatory instincts flaring.

’The cold one claims him,’ Hu Yanlie thought, his sharp teeth bared in a feral sneer. ’But claims mean nothing in the wild. The strongest takes the prize. And that scent... that scent belongs in my den.’

Lin Ji’an remained entirely, blissfully ignorant of the escalating psychological war surrounding her.

She just watched Wangchen finish the pastry, pulling out her handkerchief and casually tossing it to him to wipe the crumbs off his pristine Ice-Silk robes.

"Alright, Little Puddle," Ji’an sighed, looking up at the holographic bracket as it flashed red once more. "Your shift is over. My turn on the chopping block."

The glowing runes solidified above Ring One.

[Candidate #459: Lin Ji’an VS. Candidate #88: Yan Lie]

Wangchen stopped wiping his mouth. The softness in his eyes instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, murderous dread.

He looked at the bracket, and then he looked across the plaza, where the massive, imposing figure of Yan Lie was already walking toward the ring.

"No," Wangchen said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, absolute whisper. He dropped the handkerchief, his hand flying to the hilt of Winter’s Sigh. "You are not fighting him."

"Wangchen, relax," Ji’an rolled her shoulders, gripping her spatula. She gave him a reassuring, albeit slightly nervous, smile. "It’s just a sparring match. What’s the worst he can do? I already smacked him with this thing once today."

Wangchen’s eyes widened slightly in horror at that revelation, but before he could physically restrain her, Ji’an turned and began walking toward the black stone steps of Ring One.