Chapter 318: Destiny of Red
"I want to radiate an aura that the lesser novices don’t even dare look at my prep station."
Before the frazzled Tailor could even attempt to summon sect security to have her physically restrained, a series of heavy, freezing, and deeply authoritative footsteps echoed from the grand entrance archway of the pavilion.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The temperature on the tailoring floor instantly dropped by fifteen degrees.
Stepping into the hall, silhouetted against the morning mist, was the Head of the Sect Discipline Inspection Committee and Ice Elder of the Cloud Peak: Elder Qin Changxu.
Elder Qin Changxu was a man carved from the absolute, unyielding bedrock of orthodox tradition.
He cultivated the Heartless Dao.
His formal robes were pristine silver.
His flowing hair was immaculate silver.
His internal meridians were theorized to be filled with liquid Freon.
He was the living embodiment of an absolute, emotionless sect hierarchy.
He marched across the polished floorboards, his impossibly handsome face set in a heavy, terrifying scowl that sent spectral tailors diving beneath their cutting tables for safety.
"What is the meaning of this administrative disruption?" Elder Qin’s voice boomed across the circular hall, echoing like a frozen bell struck by an iron hammer.
His icy gaze bypassed the other nine prodigies, locking directly onto the small figure standing blithely atop the Third Place pedestal.
"Master Tailor," Elder Qin snapped, stopping at the base of Ji’an’s pedestal. "Why has the fitting floor halted? Why is the Third-ranked Disciple actively attempting to subvert the visual sanctity and collective uniformity of the Vanguard Retinue?!"
"Elder Qin! Please!" the Tailor wept, dropping to his knees. "He demands we tailor a crimson robe! He claims the Celestial Blue shows... shows boar fat splatter! He refuses to be a bruised blueberry!"
Elder Qin’s silver eyebrows drew together in a terrifying display of disciplinary wrath.
He didn’t argue in the open hall.
He reached out with a lightning-fast, incredibly powerful leather-gloved hand, clamped his fingers securely around Ji’an’s upper bicep, and forcefully hauled her off the jade pedestal.
"Come with me, Lin Ji’an," Elder Qin growled, his voice dropping into a freezing, dangerous vibration meant purely for her ears.
He marched her across the hall, bypassing the glaring ruby eyes of Xie Wangchen, and dragged her behind a six-panel, heavily warded screen of petrified Spirit-Wood set up in the private artisan alcove at the rear of the pavilion.
He released her arm, turning around to cage her against the privacy screen, towering over her slender frame with the crushing gravity of an ancient immortal.
"You will cease these childish theatrics immediately, Disciple Ji’an," Elder Qin boomed, keeping his voice contained within the privacy wards.
His eyes blazed with intense, rigid orthodox dogma.
"The Celestial Sword Sect is an entity of absolute, unshakeable order! We wear white for the pristine, unblemished purity of the Great Dao! We wear Celestial Blue for the infinite, cool reach of the higher Heavens!"
He leaned down slightly, planting his hand on the wooden frame of the screen beside her shoulder.
"To introduce the color red, a shade historically steeped in volatile Yang energy, raw demonic blood, mortal passion, and the chaotic, uncontrolled impulses of the mortal heart, is a deeply offensive act of visual heresy! You will wear the ordained blue tomorrow morning, or I will personally petition the Sect Leader to strip your merit points and bar you from the Arena!"
Ji’an crossed her arms tightly over her chest, unbothered by his looming DILF-energy, tilting her chin up to meet his icy glare with stubborn hostility.
"Elder Qin, with all due respect to the infinite, cool reach of the higher Heavens... the Heavens do not have to scrub scorched Szechuan chili glaze out of heavy spirit-silk at three in the morning using a flat rock and river water," Ji’an retorted deadpan, refusing to back down.
"Red hides chili oil, blood splatter, and projects an unmistakable, universally recognized aura of extreme, deadly poison. If I wear blue, I look like a target. If I wear Szechuan Red, I look like a walking industrial accident. It is a calculated survival choice, and I am not compromising my profit margins for your color-coded traditionalism!"
While they were fiercely arguing face-to-face, entirely lost in their own ideological warfare, the Woven Destiny Pavilion’s automated sewing arrays had completed a rapid, real-time recalculation based on Ji’an’s absolute administrative authority as a Third Overall rank-holder.
A spectral assistant floated silently over the top of the petrified-wood privacy screen, carrying a finished, customized garment on a velvet hanger.
It dropped into Ji’an’s arms.
Ji’an didn’t continue shouting.
She snatched the garment, shook it out, and forcefully pulled the outer layer over her pristine white inner tunic.
Because she had demanded high-tier combat-utility gear rather than ceremonial silk, the Woven Destiny Pavilion hadn’t provided a simple, loose silk waist ribbon.
Instead, they had constructed the waist-binding out of a wide, four-inch-thick, semi-rigid Combat Corset-Belt made from a beast’s hide, dyed a deep, glossy Szechuan Red.
It was an exceptionally heavy piece of martial equipment, designed specifically to lock the lower lumbar meridians in place during explosive physical outputs.
Ji’an wrapped the heavy red leather belt around her middle, grabbed the thick, brushed-silver interlocking buckles, and forcefully pulled the combat straps tight.
CLACK! SNAP!
The unyielding spirit-leather pulled her waist entirely inward.
Because Ji’an was wearing an artifact beneath her white tunic that flattened her upper torso into a smooth, masculine plane, the visual geometry of her body completely dropped downward.
The visual emphasis of her frame slammed directly into the lean, neat, exceptionally sharp, devastatingly hourglass-like snatch of her waist beneath the blazing red leather belt, the heavy crimson outer silk draping over her hips like the inverted petals of a dangerous, blooming mountain poppy.
Elder Qin Changxu took a slow, deep, regulated intake of breath, his silver chest expanding to its maximum capacity as he prepared to deliver his counter-argument to her chili-oil defense.
He lowered his gaze, lifting his pale index finger to point at the non-regulation red combat sash.
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