"By the laws of this sect, I am a Third Generation disciple. Which means, technically speaking, you and I are peers."

Elder Qin choked on a breath of freezing air. The reminder of her new, absurd rank hit him like a physical blow.

"But rank aside," Ji’an continued, her voice slipping into a smooth, devastatingly reasonable tone of a PR manager doing damage control. "Let’s look at the facts. Wangchen and I are sworn brothers. We went through the entrance exam together. We fought a ghost cultivator together. Is it so scandalous for a brother to bring another brother a hot meal?"

She tilted her head, a patronizing, entirely fake smile spreading across her lips.

"Or tell me, Senior Brother Qin," Ji’an probed, her voice dripping with subtle venom. "Is your definition of the ’Heartless Dao’ just turning a vibrant, talented sixteen-year-old boy into an anti-social, socially inept hermit? Do you want him to wither away on this freezing rock without a single friend? Because if so, your Dao isn’t profound. It’s just lonely."

The courtyard went dead silent.

Elder Qin looked like he had been slapped with a wet fish. No one, not even the Sect Leader, had ever dared to critique his cultivation philosophy with such blunt, psychological realism.

"You..." Elder Qin stammered, his glacial composure completely shattered by the sheer audacity of the cook. "You know nothing of the Great Dao! Sworn brothers?! I saw how he looked at you! I saw how you touched him! That is not the behavior of brothers!"

Ji’an rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

"I wiped sauce off his face! Have you never had a friend look out for your hygiene?!" Ji’an retorted, completely and utterly oblivious to the fact that Elder Qin’s assessment of the sexual tension was entirely, one-hundred-percent accurate. But she genuinely believed she was defending a pure, bro-code friendship against a paranoid boomer. "You are overthinking this, Elder! Stop projecting your weird, repressed soap-opera fantasies onto a perfectly normal bromance!"

Behind Ji’an, Xie Wangchen stood perfectly still.

His face was an unreadable mask of ice, but internally, a massive, agonizing war was raging.

’Bromance. Sworn brothers. Friend.’

The words felt like daggers plunging into his chest. He hated those labels. He abhorred them.

He didn’t want to be her brother.

He wanted to be the only man she ever looked at. He wanted to lock the courtyard doors and keep her here forever.

He desperately wanted to step forward, grab Ji’an by the waist, look his Master dead in the eye, and say: You are right. I am entirely, hopelessly compromised. And if you try to take her from me, I will destroy this sect.

But the icy, tactical genius of the villain prevailed.

Wangchen looked at Elder Qin’s furious, trembling form. He knew his Master very well.

If he admitted his feelings now, if he were to confirm Elder Qin’s worst fears that the Heartless Dao was broken, Elder Qin would not hesitate.

The Elder would invoke sect law, ban Ji’an from the Eternal Cloud Peak permanently, and likely attempt to assassinate her to "cure" his disciple.

Ji’an was currently defending him. She was using her status to protect their right to see each other.

If Wangchen spoke up, he would ruin her defense. He would lose his access to her.

So, Xie Wangchen swallowed the bitter, agonizing pill of the "friend zone." He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper, forcing his aura back into a state of pristine, detached indifference.

"Master," Wangchen spoke, his voice ringing with a cold, hollow perfection that chilled the courtyard.

Both Ji’an and Elder Qin turned to look at him.

Wangchen stepped forward, his face completely blank. He looked at Elder Qin, offering a shallow, perfectly executed bow of respect.

"Martial Uncle Lin speaks the truth," Wangchen lied smoothly, the honorific tasting like ash in his mouth. "He brought me a meal to celebrate my victory in the arena. It was a gesture of goodwill between... comrades. There is no corruption. My Heartless Dao remains unbroken."

He raised his head, his dark eyes meeting his Master’s with an unwavering, icy stare that dared the Elder to call him a liar.

Elder Qin looked at his disciple. He looked at the perfectly blank expression, the restrained Qi, the absolute lack of emotion.

’He is lying,’ Elder Qin knew in his bones. ’He’s lying to my face to protect that worthless cook!’

But without proof, and with Wangchen outwardly projecting the perfect image of the Flawless Ice Root, Elder Qin was trapped.

He couldn’t punish his disciple for accepting a meal from a superior-ranking "Martial Uncle." Who was apparently his Junior Brother in ranking.

Elder Qin’s hands clenched into tight fists. He glared at Ji’an, his eyes promising a brutal reckoning in the future.

"Very well," Elder Qin hissed, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "If it is merely... a gesture of goodwill from a Martial Uncle. But do not linger here for more than necessary, Lin Ji’an. The Eternal Cloud Peak is a place of cultivation, not a dining hall. You are no longer welcome to disrupt my disciple’s training."

"I was just leaving anyway," Ji’an replied cheerfully, securing the lunchbox under her arm. "The braised pork doesn’t digest well if you have to listen to a lecture right after eating. Try a cup of chamomile tea, Elder Qin. It works wonders for high blood pressure."

She offered a polite, utterly sarcastic bow, then turned back to Wangchen.

"See you later, Little Puddle," Ji’an smiled, completely unaware of the massive sacrifice the boy had just made to keep her near. "Good luck in your next match. Don’t freeze anyone else unless they really deserve it."

"I will see you," Wangchen murmured softly, his eyes lingering on her retreating back as she walked out of the moon-gate, humming a cheerful tune.

The moment Ji’an disappeared from sight, the courtyard plunged back into a suffocating, hostile silence.