Chapter 456: Foolish

"Your loyalty is as foolish as it is absolute," Yan Zhaoge grumbled, his purple robes swirling as he began to walk toward the open arches that led out of the monastery. "But you struck a deal last night in the bubble, Chef. An unsanctioned field trip. Do not make me drag you there by the collar."

Ji’an’s breath caught.

The Stargazing Tower.

She looked back toward the corridor where Wangchen had fled.

The guilt gnawed at her, but the desperate, burning need to uncover the truth of her transmigration, to understand the cosmic joke that had stolen her life was overwhelming.

"Fine," Ji’an muttered, jogging to catch up with the towering Sovereign. "But if we get audited by the Heavens, I am blaming you."

***

They did not take the palm-leaf yacht.

The moment they cleared the immediate perimeter of the Iron-Stone Monastery, Yan Zhaoge casually flicked his wrist, making Ji’an jealous of his power immediately.

"Step in," Yan Zhaoge commanded, offering his hand.

"You use wormholes for daily commutes?" Ji’an asked, appalled by the sheer caloric energy required for such a spell as she hesitantly took his hand. "Your carbon footprint is disgusting. What a waste of talent and power, tch, tch, tch."

"I am a Sovereign. Walking is for mortals," Yan Zhaoge smirked, pulling her through the rift.

The spatial transit was instantaneous and nauseating.

They stepped out onto a high plateau that overlooked a sprawling, treacherous labyrinth of deep, shadowy canyons.

The rock formations here were twisted, defying gravity, spiraling upward like massive, petrified drills piercing the sky.

It was a desolate, terrifying wasteland, devoid of life.

"Where are we?" Ji’an asked, rubbing her stomach as the hangover violently protested the spatial jump.

"The Whispering Narrows," Yan Zhaoge replied, keeping his hands tucked into his wide sleeves, scanning the jagged cliffs with an unreadable expression. "A blind spot in the continental surveillance arrays. It is one of the few places where I can open a direct, untraceable transit gate to the lower levels of the Stargazing Tower without triggering the World Will’s alarm bells."

"So, we’re sneaking in through the back door," Ji’an analyzed, unstrapping the heavy cast-iron spatula from her calf and gripping it firmly in her right hand. "Good to know. But how long until the gate opens?"

"It requires a convergence of celestial alignment. Approximately ten minutes around," Yan Zhaoge noted lazily.

He turned his head slightly, his amber eyes narrowing, focusing on a cluster of jagged shadows directly above them. "Though, I suspect we will be delayed. We have an appointment, you see."

"An appointment? With who?"

The air pressure in the canyon instantly collapsed.

There was no warning shout. There was no flare of orthodox aura.

A shadow detached itself from the cliff face, dropping toward them with the blinding, absolute silence of a guillotine blade.

Ji’an’s high-tier culinary Qi-sense, honed by thousands of hours dodging boiling oil and aggressive line cooks, screamed in terror.

She didn’t need to think.

She simply threw her body backward, channeling her Body Fusion kinetic mass into her legs, executing a flawless backflip.

A pair of jagged, pitch-black daggers sliced through the exact space her throat had occupied a second prior. The blades hit the stone plateau, black and silent, melting the rock upon impact.

Ji’an landed in a crouch, sliding backward, her silver hair whipping around her face.

Standing in the center of the plateau, rising smoothly from his lethal strike, was a man.

He was clad entirely in skin-tight, black assassin’s clothes.

His face was obscured by a blank, featureless white porcelain mask adorned with a single, weeping red tear painted beneath the right eye.

"An assassin?" Ji’an hissed, her grip tightening on her spatula, her hangover entirely vaporized by the adrenaline. "Sovereign Zhaoge! A little help here?!"

Yan Zhaoge had casually stepped back, leaning against a petrified spire.

He didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t summon a fireball. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking completely entertained.

"Help? Why would I help?" Yan Zhaoge drawled, offering a lazy, infuriating smile. "You possess a newly stabilized Body Fusion core, little Chef. You have raw kinetic mass, but zero practical combat application against a peer-level threat. This is a magnificent opportunity for you to train your combat prowess. Consider it a pop quiz."

"Damn you, this ’Old’ Uncle! I am going to poison your tea for the rest of your life!" Ji’an screamed.

The assassin did not wait for them to finish bickering.

He blurred into motion.

It wasn’t a run; it was a spatial folding technique. He blinked out of existence and reappeared directly behind Ji’an, driving both black daggers toward her kidneys with lethal killing intent.

This was not the honorable, flashy, loudly announced combat of the orthodox sects. This was moralless, dirty, highly efficient murder.

Ji’an spun, swinging her heavy cast-iron spatula in a brutal, horizontal arc.

CLANG!

The impact rang like a massive bell.

The raw, kinetic mass of Ji’an’s spatula collided with the assassin’s daggers. The force was so immense it shattered the air between them, sending a concussive shockwave that kicked up a massive cloud of desert dust.

The assassin was physically thrown backward, skidding across the stone.

But he recovered instantly, his boots finding traction, flipping backward into the air and hurling a volley of five poisoned throwing knives directly at her face.

"Oh, you want to throw things?!" Ji’an roared, her temper snapping.

She didn’t dodge.

She channeled her Heart Fire technique, the volcanic cultivation she had learned just last night. Her left hand glowed cherry-red.

She swiped her hand through the air, catching the five throwing knives mid-flight. The intense heat instantly melted the poison coating the blades, and she forcefully hurled the heated knives right back at the assassin’s chest.

The assassin twisted mid-air, deflecting his own heated blades with his daggers, landing softly on a jagged rock outcropping.

He paused, tilting his masked head, staring down at the silver-haired chef.

"You use cookware," the assassin spoke. His voice was a harsh, raspy, artificially distorted whisper that sent a chill down Ji’an’s spine. "The intelligence report stated you were just a Vanguard Leader. It did not state you were a culinary freak as well."

Ji’an sneered, aggressively twirling her heavy spatula, provoking the guy on purpose. "And the intelligence report didn’t tell me I’d be fighting a coward in a theater mask either. Get down here and face the heat, you dramatic, vain little edge-lord!"

The assassin vanished again.

The battle that ensued was an absolute, moralless masterpiece of brutal efficiency versus culinary improvisation.

The assassin relied on shadows, misdirection, and lethal precision, while Ji’an relied on the unyielding, immovable logic of a busy kitchen.

When the assassin tried to sweep her legs, she stomped heavily on his instep, using the full weight of her Body Fusion core to shatter his balance.

When he lunged for her throat, she threw a handful of finely ground, highly concentrated dried chili powder directly into the eye-slits of his porcelain mask.

"AGH! What did you do just now, this damn...!" the assassin coughed, momentarily blinded, swiping frantically at his mask.

"Never fight a Chef without eye protection!" Ji’an roared, closing the distance.

She didn’t use an elegant sword art.

She raised her heavy iron spatula high above her head and brought it down with the devastating, meat-tenderizing force of a butcher preparing a tough cut of pork.

The assassin crossed his daggers, blocking the downward strike. The kinetic impact drove him to one knee, the stone beneath him cracking under the pressure.

Ji’an leaned her weight into the spatula, gritting her teeth, staring down at the struggling, coughing assassin.

’He’s strong,’ Ji’an analyzed, her arms trembling under the strain. ’He’s pushing back. He’s at least at the peak of the Nascent Soul realm, bordering on Body Fusion. But his technique... it feels familiar. The way he shifts his weight... the angle of his blades...’

A sudden, jarring memory flashed through her mind.

A memory from months ago, back at the Celestial Sword Sect.

A memory of a coy, innocent, playful disciple with a bright smile who had accidentally bumped into her in the courtyard, spilling a basket of apples, apologizing profusely while subtly, yet flawlessly maneuvering out of her striking range while she tried to beat him up to a pulp by her spatula.

"Wait," Ji’an whispered, her silver-flecked eyes widening in absolute shock.