’A gorilla-like body,’ Ji’an thought, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of her neck as she stared into the dying embers of the hearth. ’If I cultivated the external path and turned into a hulking, eight-foot-tall wall of muscle... it would be an unmitigated disaster.’

First and foremost, there was the sheer biological reality she was hiding.

She was a girl. A freaking... girl!!!

The Yin-Yang Void Locket currently fused into her spiritual sea was a supreme artifact, yes. It perfectly projected the physical appearance, voice, and spiritual signature of a young male cultivator.

But it was an illusion. It warped perception. It didn’t actually change her underlying bone structure or her biological anatomy.

If she started cultivating a technique designed to turn a man into a giant, hulking behemoth... what would happen to her actual body underneath the illusion?

Would the artifact be able to compensate for that level of extreme physical disparity?

What if the illusion stretched too thin over a body that didn’t match the projected dimensions?

’I’d probably end up looking like a glitching video game character,’ Ji’an shuddered. ’Half slender girl, half holographic bodybuilder. The elders would dissect me okay?’

But beyond the fear of discovery, there was a second, far more pressing, and entirely ridiculous fear gnawing at the edges of Ji’an’s sanity.

She thought about Xie Wangchen.

She thought about the way the Ice Demon had dropped out of the sky today. She thought about the absolute, terrifying, possessive fury that had frozen the entire plaza just because Mo Wuchen had smiled at her.

She remembered the heat radiating from the tips of Wangchen’s ears when she had cheered for him, and the incredibly soft, devoted look in his eyes when she had handed him that plum pastry.

That guy liked her exactly as she was; he liked the fact that she was slightly shorter than him. He liked her lean, agile frame. He liked pulling her into his protective, icy airspace.

’But what if I changed?’ Ji’an’s mind spiraled into a chaotic, caffeine-fueled panic.

She vividly imagined a scenario where she woke up built like Senior Brother Kuang.

Eight feet tall. Biceps the size of watermelons. A neck thicker than a tree trunk.

She imagined walking up to Xie Wangchen, towering over him, and flexing a bicep that could crush a boulder.

’He would be horrified,’ Ji’an thought, her eyes widening in the dim light of the kitchen. ’He likes being the protector! He likes being the tall, brooding, dangerous one! If I look like a bouncer at a demonic nightclub, I’ll completely ruin the dynamic! I’ll scare him away!’

And if she scared Xie Wangchen away... what would happen?

The plot of "The Saint’s Harem" was a relentless, autocorrecting force of nature. It wanted the Protagonists to end up together.

If Ji’an suddenly became physically repulsive to the Ice Demon, the narrative might forcefully course-correct.

Ji’an’s imagination conjured a truly horrifying mental image.

She pictured Xie Wangchen, traumatized by her new gorilla physique, turning away in despair.

And right there, waiting in the wings with a bright, shining smile and a perfectly tailored white robe, would be Gu Zhiwei.

The Golden Retriever.

The original ultimate prize of the BL universe.

She imagined Zhiwei reaching out, his golden Sun Qi warming Wangchen’s cold, broken heart.

She imagined them holding hands. She imagined Wangchen looking at Zhiwei with that same, soft, devoted look he had given her today.

CRACK!

Ji’an accidentally snapped the wooden spoon she had been holding cleanly in half.

Jiu Zui jumped, nearly dropping his gourd. "Whoa! Easy there, kid! What did the spoon ever do to you?!"

"Nothing," Ji’an ground out, her teeth clenched so tightly her jaw ached. She stared at the broken pieces of wood in her hand, a dark, incredibly intense storm brewing in her chest.

She was angry.

She was inexplicably, violently angry at the mere thought of Xie Wangchen hooking up with Gu Zhiwei behind her back.

’No,’ Ji’an’s inner voice snarled, a fiercely possessive, dragon-like instinct rearing its head. ’Absolutely not. I spent months feeding that brooding popsicle. I made him meatballs. I made him soup. I literally braved a ghost village and slapped a Demon Lord for him!’

She threw the broken spoon into the fire, watching the wood catch and burn.

’He is MY Little Puddle!’ Ji’an declared internally, completely abandoning her "cool, detached survivor" persona in the face of sheer, unabashed jealousy. ’I am not losing my premium dishwasher to the golden retriever! If Zhiwei tries to poach him, I’ll banish the Holy Son from the dining hall forever!’

Ji’an took a deep, shuddering breath, forcibly calming her racing heart.

She had to maintain her current aesthetic. It was a matter of national security. She needed to remain the lean, slightly arrogant, highly capable chef that Wangchen had imprinted on.

She couldn’t afford to let a cultivation technique turn her into a meathead and ruin the careful, delicate emotional monopoly she had established over the most dangerous villain in the sect.

"Master," Ji’an said, her voice eerily calm, though her dark eyes were burning with renewed, terrifying determination.

"Yeah, kid?" Jiu Zui asked cautiously, sensing the sudden shift in his disciple’s aura.

"Tomorrow morning. When we start the internal meridian compression training." Ji’an leaned forward, entirely serious. "I want to compress my Qi so densely that I can shatter a boulder with a flick of my wrist, without gaining a single ounce of visible bulk. I want to look the same, but hit like a falling meteor."

Jiu Zui stared at her, a slow, appreciative grin spreading across his face. He didn’t know what had just triggered this sudden, intense motivation, but he loved it.

"Internal density over external mass," Jiu Zui nodded approvingly, raising his gourd in a toast. "The path of the Hidden Dragon. It is agonizingly painful, kid. Compressing your meridians feels like your bones are being crushed in a vice. Are you sure you can bear this pain?"