Chapter 328: Clean Them
"I want the core to be unscathed!"
"Understood," Zechuan murmured calmly.
The Senior Apprentice blurred forward.
He didn’t use a drop of his terrifying abyssal Qi.
He wielded her four-hundred-pound cast-iron wok like a blunt-force sledgehammer, executing a flawless combination of strikes that completely flattened the centipede’s exoskeleton without puncturing the internal organs.
Three minutes later, he walked back to her, his white robes splattered with green venom, and politely deposited the pristine, glowing purple core into her open palm.
"Here is your core, Ji’an," he smiled softly, completely unfazed by the manual labor.
Ji’an gripped the core so tightly it nearly cracked. ’Why did he call me Ji’an? He’s supposed to call me Martial Uncle! Why does he sound so fond of calling my name?!’
"My boots are muddy," Ji’an demanded thirty minutes later, abandoning common decency, pointing to the glowing blue sludge clinging to her red leather boots. "Clean them. And don’t use a cloth. Use your Qi."
It was the ultimate humiliation for a cultivator of his rank.
But Zechuan knelt in the mud before her.
He raised his pale, elegant hands, hovering them inches from her boots.
The Void-Devouring Mantra activated, not to consume her energy, but merely to vacuum the mud from her leather, leaving her boots sparkling clean.
"Is this satisfactory?" Zechuan asked, looking up at her from his kneeling position, his dark eyes radiating the same maddeningly familiar brotherly indulgence.
Ji’an internally shrieked.
She wanted to pull her hair out.
It wasn’t working.
He wasn’t snapping out of anger.
He wasn’t showing any malice.
He was acting like a deeply devoted, patient older brother indulging the whims of a chaotic, spoiled younger sibling.
’He is mocking me,’ Ji’an fumed, marching ahead of him through the dense fog. ’He looks exactly like Lin Feng, and he’s acting exactly like Lin Feng when I used to demand piggyback rides! It’s psychological torture! He’s using my own familial trauma against me!’
«You are acting like a petulant tyrant, and he is treating you like a toddler,» the Nekomata observed dryly from her shoulder. «I must admit, watching the terrifying Iron Wok Demon throw a tantrum because her victim is too polite is incredibly entertaining.»
"Shut up, cat," Ji’an hissed aloud. "I will break him. Everyone has a limit to their patience!"
But before Ji’an could escalate her harassment to demanding he peel spirit-grapes for her, the dense, gray fog of the Whispering Woods parted, revealing a wide, sunken ravine.
And they were no longer alone.
***
Standing in the center of the ravine, engaged in a skirmish with a pack of low-level illusory wolves, was a contingent of twenty female disciples.
They wore the flowing, pale blue water-silks of the Azure Crane Pavilion, a prestigious, highly influential allied sect that had joined the tournament.
As Ji’an and Zechuan emerged from the fog, the female disciples dispatched the last of the wolves, wiping their rapiers clean.
The leader of the group, a beautiful, fiercely proud senior maiden named Fairy Xue, turned her head to assess the new arrivals.
Her eyes immediately landed on Shen Zechuan.
In the orthodox world, Shen Zechuan’s return had been highly anticipated.
His tragic backstory of five years lost in the abyss, combined with his unblemished, melancholic beauty and his status as the Sect Leader’s direct apprentice, had made him the undisputed "Tragic Prince" of the younger generation’s romantic fantasies.
Thousands of maidens viewed him as a broken, beautiful soul in desperate need of healing and affection.
Fairy Xue’s eyes lit up with her swooning admiration.
"Senior Apprentice Shen!" Fairy Xue gasped, sheathing her rapier and hastily smoothing her water-silk robes, preparing to step forward and offer a flawless, elegant greeting.
But then, her gaze shifted slightly to the left.
She saw the cast-iron wok cradled in Shen Zechuan’s arms, and the green centipede venom splattered across his pristine white robes.
She saw the mud staining the knees of his trousers where he had just knelt.
And then, Fairy Xue’s gaze snapped to the person walking ten paces behind him.
Lin Ji’an.
The chef was strutting lazily, entirely spotless, wearing blazing, hyper-saturated Szechuan Red, twirling a spatula, looking like an absolute, tyrannical thug.
The romantic admiration in Fairy Xue’s eyes transmuted into absolute, horrified outrage.
"By the Heavens!" Fairy Xue shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Ji’an. "Look at him! Look at what the Iron Wok Demon is doing!"
The other nineteen maidens turned.
A collective gasp of scandal rippled through the ravine.
"He is forcing the Senior Apprentice to carry his cookware!"
"Look at the venom on Senior Shen’s robes! The Demon used him as a human shield!"
"He is treating Martial Brother Shen like a common beast of burden! The cruelty! The arrogance!"
Ji’an stopped walking.
She lowered her spatula, staring down into the ravine at the congregation of outraged, glaring sword-maidens.
’Oh, you have got to be kidding me,’ Ji’an’s internal monologue flatlined. ’The fujoshis have mobilized again. They think I am abusing the pretty-boy clone.’
Fairy Xue marched forward, her hand resting on the hilt of her rapier, her chest heaving with righteous indignation.
"Lin Ji’an!" Fairy Xue declared, her voice ringing with the authority of a self-appointed savior. "Your reputation as a brutal, blood-soaked subterranean butcher precedes you! But this is a step too far! Senior Shen has just returned from five years of agonizing torment in the abyss! His soul is fragile! His spirit is weary! And you use your seniority to bully him into manual labor?!"
Shen Zechuan, standing a few paces away holding the wok, blinked.
A look of amusement danced in his dark eyes.
"Maidens of the Azure Crane," Shen Zechuan murmured, stepping forward, his voice a picture of gentle, tragic nobility. "Please, do not direct your ire toward my Martial Uncle. I am... entirely willing to bear this burden. The abyss has taught me humility. I do not mind the hard work."
It was the most perfectly executed, victim-playing dialogue Ji’an had ever heard.
The maidens swooned, practically weeping at his tragic nobility.
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