Wuchen stood up, letting his willow-green robes hang loosely off his shoulders. He deliberately swayed on his feet, letting out a soft, pained gasp as he took a step toward the center of the room.

He timed it perfectly. Just as Ji’an turned around from inspecting the window, Wuchen’s knees "buckled."

He fell forward, reaching out a pale, trembling hand, aiming his descent directly toward Ji’an’s chest. It was a classic, flawless maneuver.

Ji’an would have to catch him. She would have to wrap her arms around his waist to stabilize him.

Their faces would be inches apart, and Mo Wuchen would unleash the full, devastating power of his grateful, amber-eyed gaze.

But Lin Ji’an was not a normal protagonist. Lin Ji’an was a chef who had spent five years dodging falling pots of boiling water and slipping line cooks.

Her reflexes were entirely tuned to avoiding disaster, not catching it.

As Wuchen fell, Ji’an’s eyes widened.

Instead of stepping forward to catch him, Ji’an smoothly executed a flawless pivot to the left, side-stepping the falling assassin with the agility of a matador dodging a bull.

Thud!

Wuchen hit the dusty floorboards. He didn’t hit them hard, as his cultivation naturally softened the blow, but he still landed face-first in the dirt, his perfectly choreographed romantic stumble completely ruined.

The entire hut went dead silent.

Tang Bo dropped his cup, while Princess Ling’er gasped.

"Whoa! Careful there, Junior Brother!" Ji’an said cheerfully, looking down at the assassin on the floor. "Your equilibrium must be shot from the fever. I told you to drink the tea, not try to do gymnastics."

Wuchen lay on the floor for a full three seconds. His perfectly manicured fingernails dug into the rotting wood. A vein throbbed visibly on his temple.

’He... he side-stepped me?’ Wuchen’s mind short-circuited. ’He watched me fall and didn’t even twitch. How is that possible? Is he that straight?’

Slowly, Wuchen pushed himself up into a kneeling position.

He brushed the dust from his robes, his hair falling over his eyes to hide the absolute, murderous frustration brewing within them.

"I... I apologize, Senior Brother," Wuchen whispered, his voice trembling, aside that this time from genuine rage rather than fake illness. "I felt suddenly dizzy. I am so clumsy."

"It’s fine, just stay seated," Ji’an waved her spatula dismissively. "If you fall into the fire, I don’t have enough aloe vera to treat burns."

Ji’an turned her back on him, walking over to check on Liu Liu.

Underneath her calm exterior, Ji’an’s inner monologue was screaming.

’Nice try, Psycho! I can see what you’re doing! You think you can use the "fragile beauty" trope on me? I am a fortress of solitude, alright! I am a wall of indifference! Those petty and shallow tricks won’t work on me!’

Ji’an couldn’t fathom why Mo Wuchen was directing his arsenal of manipulation at her.

In the original novel, Wuchen was supposed to be completely disinterested in the world until he laid eyes on the Holy Son, Gu Zhiwei. Gu Zhiwei was the one who was supposed to catch him when he fell.

Gu Zhiwei was the one whose pure, blinding "Sun Light" was supposed to thaw the assassin’s twisted heart.

’Where is that golden retriever when you need him?!’ Ji’an mentally cursed Gu Zhiwei for not being here to absorb the plot. ’Go be a campus idol somewhere else, Wuchen! Stop trying to rizz this chef! I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with an assassin who wants to play mind games!’

Mo Wuchen retreated to his corner, accepting a cup of tea from a blushing Class 7 disciple.

He sipped the spicy liquid, his amber eyes locked onto Ji’an’s back with terrifying, unblinking intensity.

’He is immune to pitiful looks and charm?’ Wuchen analyzed, his gentle smile returning, though it now carried a sharp, predatory edge. ’How novel. I wonder... what will it take to make that calm, arrogant face crack? I will find out. Even if I have to tear this entire village apart to do it.’

Sadly, Mo Wuchen didn’t think that he wouldn’t be able to see that day coming anytime soon, because the one who could crack her arrogance wasn’t here.

.

.

.

The tense, unspoken psychological warfare in the hut was suddenly interrupted by a shout from outside.

"Zhang Min! Open the perimeter! We’re back!"

Zhang Min leaped to his feet, grabbing his sword. "It’s the foraging team! They made it back before nightfall!"

A collective sigh of relief washed through the Class 7 disciples. They hurried to the door, peering through the cracks in the rotting wood.

Ji’an joined them, her spatula at the ready, though her instincts were screaming that something was fundamentally wrong.

The fog in the village streets had thickened, turning a sickly, unnatural shade of yellow-gray.

Emerging from the mist were five figures wearing the brown robes of Class 7.

But they weren’t cheering or holding up baskets of edible roots or wild berries.

They were staggering. Their faces were ashen, entirely drained of blood.

One of them was weeping silently, his eyes wide and vacant with shock. They looked like soldiers returning from a massacre.

And they weren’t alone.

Trailing behind them, being dragged by its massive, thick tail, was a Rank 4 Iron-Hide Rhino. The beast was already dead.

Its skull had been caved in with a single, devastating blow that completely bypassed its impenetrable armor.

"Heavens..." Zhang Min gasped, throwing the door open and rushing out into the street. "Li Wei! What happened?! Did you kill that thing?!"

Li Wei, the leader of the foraging team, fell to his knees on the cobblestones, shaking his head frantically. "No! No, we didn’t! We were ambushed! There was a whole pack of them! We were going to die!"

"Then who killed it?" Ji’an asked, stepping out of the hut, her eyes narrowing as she looked past the terrified disciples into the thick, swirling fog.

The heavy, oppressive silence of the village seemed to deepen.