The colour drained from his face, and then rushed back with torrential force.

His green eyes widened in absolute shock.

He choked, a highly undignified, ragged cough tearing from his throat.

The heat was unfathomable.

It wasn’t just spicy; it felt as though someone was actively dragging a serrated blade made of fire across his tongue.

Shiru frantically reached for his cup of water, completely abandoning his elegant facade, downing the liquid in a single gulp.

He was panting, his chest heaving, his pristine spectacles fogging up from the sheer heat radiating from his own body.

"It is... adequately seasoned," Shiru rasped, his voice sounding like gravel, completely unable to hide the fact that he was currently fighting for his life against a lotus root.

Wangchen, watching his rival suffer, felt a surge of smug, icy superiority.

The Ice Demon picked up a large cut of meat, submerged it into the bubbling inferno, and brought it to his lips.

He was the master of the Flawless Ice Root.

Mere capsaicin could not breach his internal temperature regulation.

He ate the meat.

The heat hit his tongue.

Wangchen’s ruby eyes widened a fraction.

The spice was, undeniably, catastrophic.

But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that the intense, violently potent Yang energy of the spices, combined with the incredibly rich, high-tier monster meat, began to immediately supercharge his meridians.

His blood began to boil.

And more importantly, he was sitting right next to Lin Ji’an.

The combination of the extreme, physical heat from the food and the heavy, intoxicating proximity of the person he was obsessed with created a chain reaction in his newly ascended immortal body.

Wangchen couldn’t rely on his ice to cool him down because freezing the spice would be admitting defeat to Shiru, and he refused to look weak in front of Ji’an.

"The flavor profile is exceptional," Wangchen stated, his voice tight, suppressing a cough, a faint, unusual flush of pink appearing high on his pale, flawless cheekbones.

"Keep eating, boys! Don’t let it get cold!" Ji’an cheered sadistically, happily munching on her mild mushroom broth, entirely enjoying the spectacle of three arrogant prodigies suffering.

The dinner devolved into a grueling, sweaty war of attrition.

None of the three men was willing to stop eating.

Zhiwei wouldn’t stop because he was a glutton who loved the food despite the pain.

Shiru wouldn’t stop because he refused to lose face in front of the cook he wanted to monopolize.

And Wangchen wouldn’t stop because he viewed finishing the meal as a testament to his devotion.

As the minutes ticked by, the intense heat of the Inferno Hotpot began to take a severe, physical toll.

Zhiwei was the first to break decorum.

"It’s too hot!" the Golden Retriever whined, tears streaming down his face.

He aggressively yanked at the collar of his golden robes.

Finding it insufficient, Zhiwei completely unfastened the top half of his tunic, shrugging the heavy fabric off his shoulders, letting it pool around his waist.

He sat there, his broad, heavily muscled, perfectly sculpted chest completely exposed.

His skin was flushed a deep, healthy red, slick with a heavy sheen of sweat that caught the firelight, tracing the deep grooves of his abdominals.

He looked like a bronzed war god glistening in the heat of battle, panting heavily, shoving more meat into his mouth.

Ji’an, who had been laughing at him a moment prior, suddenly choked on a mushroom.

She averted her eyes, staring fixedly at her bowl. ’Put your clothes back on, you golden menace!’

But the domino effect had begun.

Wen Shiru, whose elegant, green silk robes were currently trapping the immense heat of his body, let out a ragged, frustrated sigh.

The scholar’s meticulous composure was entirely gone.

His hands, trembling slightly from the spice, reached up to his high, stifling collar.

Shiru unbuttoned the top four clasps of his tunic, violently pulling the fabric open to expose his pale, flawless collarbones and the deep, shadowed V of his chest.

His usually immaculate hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead.

His silver spectacles had slipped down his nose.

The contrast between his refined, aristocratic aesthetic and his currently disheveled, flushed, panting state was dangerously and aggressively alluring.

He looked at Ji’an, running a thumb over his swollen, spice-reddened lower lip, his jade eyes dark with heat. "Your spices are... merciless, Brother Ji’an," Shiru panted softly, the double entendre thick enough to cut with a knife.

Ji’an’s brain short-circuited. ’Why is the sociopath suddenly emitting peak tragic-romance-novel energy?! Ahhh! Cover your collarbones, you manipulative fox!’

She turned her head to the left, desperately seeking the safety of Wangchen’s icy composure.

It was a fatal mistake.

Xie Wangchen was losing his battle against the heat.

His Flawless Ice could regulate his core, but it couldn’t stop the overwhelming response to the capsaicin and the proximity of the person he loved.

Wangchen’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

His flawless, pale skin was flushed a brilliant, feverish pink.

He didn’t just unbutton his collar.

With a low, frustrated growl, Wangchen reached up and entirely loosened the silk sash binding his robes.

He pulled the heavy white silk apart, exposing his chest to the cool night air.

Ji’an’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

The catastrophic, nosebleed-inducing fantasy she had experienced that morning was suddenly, violently manifesting in real life.

Wangchen was breathtaking.

His chest was corded with lean, dense, and flawlessly sculpted muscle.

The sweat beaded against his pale skin, tracking down his sternum.

His silver hair cascaded over his exposed shoulders.

He leaned back in his chair, his head tilted back, his ruby eyes half-closed as he panted softly, his lips stained a dark, vibrant red from the spices.

He looked like a fallen, corrupted angel surrendering to temptation.

It was too much.

It was a sensory, hormonal, completely inappropriate overload.

Lin Ji’an was surrounded by three half-naked, incredibly muscular, sweating, panting, blindingly attractive immortal prodigies, all sitting at her dining table.