Chapter 320: Grand Welcome
To Wangchen’s severely warped, possessive, and intensely devoted yandere psyche, seeing Ji’an walk blithely to his side in flowing white silk and brilliant Szechuan Red felt as though she had casually, unknowingly donned a bridal veil specifically to walk down the aisle and stand at the altar with him.
A look of such dark, unhinged, breathtakingly tender euphoria crossed his flawless, jade-like face that the ambient mountain mist inside the pavilion instantly crystallized into a hovering cloud of glittering diamond dust.
He smoothly, effortlessly shifted his broad-shouldered physical mass to walk upon her left side, the traditional position of the groom.
When Lu Jianheng, the Sword Lord, attempted to step up to Ji’an’s left flank to ask her about the balance of her spatula, Wangchen unleashed an invisible barrier that nearly sheared the silver paudron off Jianheng’s shoulder.
"Walk upon the right, Sword Lord," Wangchen whispered.
His voice was a low, melodic hum, but his radiant ruby eyes were glowing with a pitch-black threat that promised instant decapitation. "The left flank is occupied. Do not step into the aisle."
Lu Jianheng’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping his sword hilt, his eyes burning with intense rivalry, but he wisely stepped back to the right, unable to breach the newly ascended immortal’s domain.
Ji’an, completely oblivious to the fact that her custom combat utility gear was currently emitting lethal bridal rizz, merely adjusted her high red collar and let out an exasperated sigh.
"Why is everyone walking so stiffly?" Ji’an complained, casually bumping her shoulder against Wangchen’s arm as they marched toward the grand exit archway. "It’s just an opening diplomatic reception. Relax your glutes, man. We have a lot of standing around to do."
"Yes, we do, Brother Ji’an," Wangchen answered, though Ji’an felt like something was wrong with his answer, giving her the creeps.
***
The descent from the Woven Destiny Pavilion to the Grand Concourse of Ten Thousand Swords, the open-air marble concourse situated at the very base of the Inner Sect peaks, was a spectacle that brought the entire mountain to a complete standstill.
The foreign delegations participating in today’s friendly diplomatic exhibition match had officially breached the lower gates.
The concourse was divided into opulent pavilions housing the visiting powerhouses of the continent.
To the east was the Crimson Blade Sect: a retinue of towering, heavily tattooed, aggressive sword-brawlers dressed in unrefined leather, who cultivated raw, explosive, body-refining Yang energy.
To the west was the legendary Azure Lotus Pavilion: an all-female orthodox sect populated by ethereal, veiled, peerless maidens draped in flowing pastel water-silks, who cultivated supreme moon and river Qi.
Occupying the central viewing platforms were the Star-Seizing Oracle Retinue, veiled, mysterious figures from the capital surrounded by floating starlight talismans, and the Demonic Vanguard Observers, foreign entities attending under the temporary, paranoid diplomatic truce.
Standing at the absolute geographic center of the grand marble dais overlooking the concourse was Sect Leader Bai Yunfei.
The Sect Leader wore his flowing midnight hair loose, his pristine, starlight-glass robes catching the morning sun, looking so maturely, DILF-tier handsome that several visiting duchesses had already fainted backward into their palanquins before the ceremony even began.
"Welcome, fellow Sovereigns, to the threshold of the Heavens," Bai Yunfei’s rich, melodic baritone boomed across the marble concourse, effortlessly soothing the chaotic, clashing spiritual pressure of the visiting delegations.
The herald struck the massive golden chime.
GONG.
The heavy brass gates at the top of the dais opened.
The Top Ten Disciples of the host mountain marched out onto the elevated marble platform, taking their places in a strict, perfectly spaced, intimidating martial row directly behind the Sect Leader.
The rival sects gathered in the concourse below fell silent, turning their gaze upward to inspect the ultimate talent of the host mountain.
Their eyes tracked across the row.
Rank 1: Xie Wangchen (Terrifying absolute zero aura, silver hair, ruby eyes).
Rank 2: Gu Zhiwei (Blinding, heroic holy light, golden hair).
Rank 4: Lu Jianheng (Peerless, razor-sharp sword intent).
Rank 5: Shen Zechuan (The dark, hollow, copy-paste abyssal twin).
And then... their eyes hit Rank #3.
The neural network of the visiting continental delegations short-circuited.
They saw nine towering, broad-shouldered, exceptionally rigid male immortals arrayed in completely identical, immaculate white and Celestial Blue armor.
And right in the middle, leaning lazily on one red-leather-bound leg, blowing a stray lock of dark hair out of her eyes, wearing a fiercely rebellious Szechuan Red silk that tightly hugged a lean and neat waist beneath a wide combat corset-belt... was Lin Ji’an.
The reaction across the marble concourse fractured into two distinct sociological demographics.
The ethereal, veiled, emotionally disciplined maidens of the Azure Lotus Pavilion completely forgot their vows of serene orthodox detachment.
Folding fans snapped open in a rapid and rhythmic wave.
Veils fluttered wildly as completely un-canonical, sighs rippled through their ranks.
"Wow, Sisters! Look at him!" a senior maiden whispered fiercely to her junior, her jade-carved knuckles turning white as she gripped her water-silk sash. "The Third Overall Disciple! He entirely defies the ordained, rigid Celestial Blue of the orthodox hierarchy! He wears the blazing crimson of absolute, untamable passion!"
"His posture!" another girl swoons audibly, practically vibrating off her viewing bench. "He leans amidst those towering, rigid, unyielding pillars of ice and steel with the suave, effortless swagger of a rogue king! Look at those sharp, intelligent, silver-flecked eyes! Look at the slight, dangerous, roguish curve of his smirk! He is the quintessential ’rebellious bad boy who hides a deeply tender heart’ trope manifested in the mortal flesh! I must learn his lineage! I must drop my embroidered handkerchief at his red boots before the sun sets!"
"He carries a blunt, black iron weapon strapped directly to his calf!" a third maiden gasped, entirely misinterpreting the Black Iron Spatula. "An ancient, brutal instrument of close-quarters execution! He cares nothing for the elegant, fragile, performative rapiers of his peers! He is raw! He is real! Oh, my spiritual sea is completely turbulent with romantic yearning!"
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