Chapter 448: Slandered

While the boys engaged in a frantic, blushing, and awkward wardrobe change in the back of the yacht, Ji’an let out a long, exhausted sigh.

She leaned against the woven railing, her silver hair whipping around her face, trying to lower her blood pressure.

But as she looked toward the rear of the vessel, her Qi-sense picked up a spike of depression.

Xie Wangchen was not changing his clothes.

The Ice Demon was standing completely still, his silver-threaded belly-dancer halter top was encased in a thick layer of solid black ice.

He was not looking at his luggage, but was staring directly at Yan Zhaoge.

Wangchen’s ruby eyes were dilated, burning with a dark fury.

The Sovereign of the Iron-Stove Monastery had hijacked Ji’an’s chair, drank her wine, eaten her pastry. And now, he was sitting beside her, breathing her air, looking too comfortable.

To Wangchen, who now secretly knew that Ji’an was a woman, the presence of another powerful, handsome, overwhelmingly charismatic immortal within her personal bubble was not just an annoyance.

It was an existential threat that required immediate eradication.

’He sits beside her as if he belongs there,’ Wangchen’s fractured consciousness hissed, the frost creeping across the floorboards toward Yan Zhaoge’s chair. ’He speaks to her with familiarity and claims her attention. I will shatter his meridians. I will freeze his blood until it turns to dust. I will mount his head on a spike of ice at the gates of his own monastery.’

"Wangchen," Ji’an called out softly, recognizing the warning signs of an impending glacial meltdown.

The Ice Demon’s head snapped toward her. The murderous crimson light in his eyes softened infinitesimally, though the heavy, suffocating black frost continued to radiate from his core.

"Change your clothes, Little Puddle," Ji’an instructed, keeping her tone completely even, devoid of the harsh yelling she directed at the others.

"I have no need of mortal garments, Ji’an," Wangchen purred, his voice a chilling, melodic hum. He took a slow, deliberate step toward the front of the yacht, his eyes darting back to Yan Zhaoge. "My focus is dedicated to the preservation of your perimeter. There is a... contaminant... in our airspace."

Yan Zhaoge didn’t even blink.

The Overtime Boss took a slow sip of his wine, highly amused. "Your refrigerator is leaking, Ji’an. You should check the freon levels."

"Do not antagonize him, Sovereign Yan, I swear to the Heavens I will throw you off this leaf," Ji’an threatened under her breath.

She knew she had to defuse the situation immediately.

If Wangchen launched a preemptive strike right now, Yan Zhaoge would absolutely retaliate, and the resulting clash of Absolute Zero and Infinite Thermal Energy would vaporize the palm-leaf yacht and drop them all three thousand feet into a boiling desert caldera.

Ji’an stepped away from the railing.

She walked directly up to the freezing, furious immortal, ignoring the terrifying aura that made the other boys cower.

She reached out and lightly, casually grabbed the front of his silk halter top.

Wangchen froze.

His breath hitched and his eyes widened, locking onto hers with a look of intense, overwhelming devotion. The fact that she was initiating physical contact by grabbing his clothes with such familiar, unapologetic ownership sent a euphoric jolt straight to his core.

"Listen to me, you homicidal icicle," Ji’an murmured, her voice dropping into a low, private register meant only for his ears. She leaned in slightly, effectively blocking his line of sight to Yan Zhaoge. "You need to calm down and put your robes on. If you walk into a monastery full of pyromaniacs wearing frozen belly-dancer pants, they are going to laugh at you, and I am not going to defend your fashion choices."

"He displeases me," Wangchen whispered back, his voice vibrating with unfiltered jealousy. "He looks at you with greedy eyes. He demands your labor. I want to sever his neck."

Ji’an rolled her eyes, suppressing a deeply exhausted groan. She had to deploy the ultimate, ego-soothing pacification protocol.

"Wangchen, look at him," Ji’an whispered, injecting her tone with absolute, deadpan culinary disdain. "He is an ancient, pipe-smoking corporate relic who wears too much purple silk and thinks dropping a rock on someone’s head is a viable management strategy. Do you honestly think I care about his opinion?"

She reached up, lightly patting Wangchen’s freezing, rigid shoulder.

"I don’t like old, smelly men who make me work overtime, Wangchen," Ji’an lied smoothly, maintaining intense, convincing eye contact. "He smells like burnt ash and stale tobacco. It’s terrible for the palate. You are my best enforcer. You smell like winter pine. I need you to just put your white robes on, stand behind me, and look intimidating so I don’t have to deal with his nonsense."

The effect was instantaneous and immediately effective.

The words "old, smelly men" and "you are my best enforcer" bypassed every single one of Wangchen’s rational defenses and struck the absolute center of his vanity.

’She finds him repulsive,’ Wangchen’s brain processed the data with blinding, triumphant joy. ’She thinks he smells like ash. She prefers the scent of my frost. She seeks my proximity to shield her from his stench.’

The apocalyptic, world-ending black ice instantly evaporated.

The terrifying crimson glow faded from his ruby eyes, replaced by a look of smug, utterly victorious superiority. He looked past Ji’an’s shoulder at Yan Zhaoge with an expression that essentially said: I have won the universe, and you are merely garbage.

"As you decree, my Ji’an," Wangchen hummed softly, his voice dripping with devoted, velvety obedience. "If his stench offends you, I shall tolerate his existence from a distance. I will change my garments immediately so that I may properly represent your vanguard."

"Good boy. Go," Ji’an shooed him away, letting out a silent exhale of relief as the Ice Demon gracefully retreated to the back of the yacht to don his pristine white robes.

Crisis averted.

The explosion was canceled.

Ji’an turned around, intending to walk back to the helm and peacefully steer the yacht toward the glowing gates of the monastery.

"Old and smelly?"

The voice was not loud. It was a low, resonant, vibrating drawl that sounded too calm, and too close.

Ji’an froze.

She slowly turned her head.

Yan Zhaoge was no longer sitting lazily in the bamboo chair.

The Sovereign of the Iron-Stone Monastery had stood up.

He had crossed the deck with silent, terrifying, deity-level speed. He was standing one foot behind her, towering over her, looking down with an expression of deeply offended outrage.

He had heard her.

Because of course he had heard her. He was a Peak-Stage Sovereign; his auditory perception could pick up a heartbeat from three miles away.

"I am three hundred and forty-two years old, which in immortal terms, makes me a spry, energetic youth in the absolute prime of my virility," Yan Zhaoge stated, his dark eyes narrowing into dangerous, foxy slits. "And I do not smell like stale tobacco. I smell like premium spiced amber, ancient authority, and the finest imported incense in the Azure Empire."

Ji’an stared up at him, caught red-handed.

"I was just deploying a tactical de-escalation," Ji’an defended herself, taking a rapid step backward, her transmigrator survival instincts flaring. "It was crowd control! If I didn’t insult you a little, he was going to turn your head into a snow-cone!"

"Tactical de-escalation does not require character assassination, little intern," Yan Zhaoge scoffed, stepping forward and completely invading her personal space.

Before Ji’an could dodge, Yan Zhaoge’s hand shot out.

His long, elegant fingers bypassed her defensive blocks and firmly pinched the top of her right ear.

"Ow!" Ji’an yelped, slapping at his wrist. "Hey! This is HR violation! Let go of my ear!"

Yan Zhaoge didn’t let go.

He didn’t pinch hard enough to cause actual injury, but he twisted it just enough to be incredibly annoying.

"You are an ungrateful, disrespectful little gremlin," Yan Zhaoge scolded, leaning down so his face was inches from hers, a wicked, entertained smirk warring with his feigned outrage. "I hijack a brothel for you, secure your passage to the Stargazing Tower, eat your pastry. And you repay my benevolence by telling your unhinged refrigerator that I am an elderly vagrant?"

"You threatened to boil my cells from the inside out just twenty minutes ago!" Ji’an argued fiercely, batting his hand away and rubbing her red ear, her silver-flecked eyes glaring daggers.