Chapter 341: The Jealous Sword Lord
"The one with the red sauce that makes my tongue tingle? I greatly enjoyed the tingling sensation!"
"Spicy stir-fry it is," Ji’an grinned, reaching out to give his arm a firm, affectionate pat. "Let’s go find a cave, you absolute glutton."
They stood there in the mist, standing incredibly close to each other, sharing a warm, comfortable smile.
It was a moment of pure, relaxed camaraderie, devoid of any martial tension or survival panic.
Unfortunately, the universe and the misunderstanding-fueled plot of the web novel absolutely despised domestic peace.
.
.
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A hundred yards away, navigating the treacherous, shifting corridors of the Illusory Labyrinth, was Lu Jianheng, the Sword Lord of the Celestial Sword Sect.
Jianheng was not having a good time.
The peerless genius of the Sword Peak was currently operating on three hours of sleep, zero decent meals, and a mountain of repressed emotional confusion.
He had spent the last thirty-six hours carving a path of devastation through the Outer Layer of the Shattered Realm.
His pristine blue robes were slightly scuffed.
His legendary blade, Autumn Shine, hummed with a restless, aggressive energy. He had accumulated enough Sovereign Tokens to comfortably secure a spot in the top ten, effortlessly dispatching foreign try-hards and array beasts alike.
By all metrics, he was dominating the tournament, just like the other male protagonists.
But internally, Jianheng’s mind was a chaotic disaster zone.
He was supposed to be focusing on the Great Dao.
He was supposed to be meditating on the purity of his sword intent and preparing to fight the Ice Demon and the new Senior Apprentice for the ultimate glory of the sect.
Instead, every single time he closed his eyes, his treacherous brain betrayed him.
He didn’t see sword manuals, or the path to immortality.
All he saw was a whip of blazing, hyper-saturated Szechuan Red silk, a slender, neat waist tied by heavy leather straps, and a pair of silver-flecked, arrogant, mocking eyes looking down at him.
And, most humiliatingly of all, he smelled the overwhelming, intoxicating scent of star anise, crushed garlic, and wild ginger.
"Focus, Lu Jianheng," the Sword Lord hissed to himself, aggressively gripping the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white. "You are a practitioner of the unyielding blade. You cannot allow your Dao heart to be derailed by a foul-mouthed, chaotic cook. He is just a boy, nothing but a worthless guy who became a Martial Uncle of the Sect, purely out of the whim of an Elder! He is an arrogant, insufferable menace who uses cookware as bludgeoning weapons!"
But the desperate mantras were useless.
The memory of the Herb Garden incident, the life-altering day months ago when Lin Ji’an had effortlessly pinned him to the dirt, pressing a cast-iron spatula to his throat, leaning over him with that dark, breathtaking smirk, was permanently burned into his retinas and soul.
He had spent months trying to rationalize his reaction.
He had convinced himself that his racing heart and flushing cheeks were merely symptoms of martial outrage.
He was angry that he had been bested, furious that a mere cook had bypassed his defenses.
But seeing Ji’an at the fitting pavilion the previous day, wearing that red combat corset, strutting between the towering prodigies with such effortless, untouchable confidence... had completely shattered his denial.
Lu Jianheng, the proud, aristocratic heir to the Sword Peak, was harboring a desperate, un-canonical crush on Lin Ji’an.
’I must find him,’ Jianheng’s internal monologue finally admitted, a flush of deep embarrassment creeping up his neck as he stalked through the pearlescent mist. ’I just need to ensure he has not been eliminated by the foreign sects. The realm is dangerous and he lacks proper armor. I will simply... observe him from a distance. To ensure the integrity of our future duel!’
It was a flimsy, pathetic excuse, but it drove his boots forward.
Jianheng turned a corner, passing through a shimmering wall of translucent glass.
He stepped into a wide, open courtyard within the labyrinth. The mist here was thinner, allowing for clear visibility.
And there, standing in the center of the obsidian floor, were two figures.
Jianheng froze.
His breath hitched in his throat.
It was Lin Ji’an. The bright, blazing crimson of the chef’s robes was unmistakable, standing out like a beacon against the gray and blue environment.
A surge of relief flooded Jianheng’s chest.
The cook was safe, uninjured, and smiling.
’But, wait... smiling?’
As Jianheng’s eyes adjusted to the light, the relief instantly curdled into a cold, suffocating, and horrific spike of pure jealousy.
Ji’an was not alone.
Standing right beside the chef, so close their shoulders were practically brushing, was Shen Zechuan.
The tragic, mysterious, newly returned Senior Apprentice, who was apparently the Sect Leader’s favorite.
Jianheng stood paralyzed behind a pillar of glass, hidden from their view, watching the interaction unfold.
Because of the angle, and because Jianheng’s brain was already compromised by his own suppressed panic, the scene he witnessed was completely misinterpreted.
He didn’t see two friends joking about dinner.
He saw Ji’an, the arrogant, confident, overwhelmingly charismatic chef, leaning intimately toward the Senior Apprentice.
He saw Ji’an laughing, a bright, beautiful sound, while reaching out to affectionately, familiarly pat Zechuan’s arm.
And Shen Zechuan... the supposedly terrifying abyssal prodigy... looked entirely enraptured.
Zechuan was staring down at Ji’an with wide, shining, hopelessly devoted eyes, a faint blush dusting his pale cheeks, hanging onto the chef’s every word as if Ji’an were hanging the moon in the sky.
’No,’ Jianheng’s mind whispered, a sensation of sickening betrayal twisting his gut. ’What is happening? Why are they standing so close? Why is he looking at Ji’an like that?!’
Jianheng’s grip on his sword hilt tightened until the leather wrap groaned.
His mind raced, desperately trying to construct a narrative.
He knew the rumors.
That the entire sect viewed Shen Zechuan as a fragile, broken soul who had endured unspeakable torment in the abyss.
The Tragic Prince who was vulnerable and naive to the ways of the world.
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