Chapter 458: Ji’an’s Special Buffet

And upon this table rested a volume of food that completely shattered the laws of physics and caloric density.

Ji’an dropped her spatula.

It landed softly in the grass with a muffled thud.

"Oh, my God," Ji’an whispered, her silver-flecked eyes tearing up with pure, religious culinary ecstasy.

It was a buffet.

But it wasn’t just a buffet; it was the platonic ideal of a buffet.

It was the ultimate, undisputed, transcendent Mecca of gastronomy.

Directly in front of her were towering, steaming bamboo baskets stacked ten feet high, overflowing with perfectly pleated translucent Soup Dumplings (Xiaolongbao), the rich, golden broth practically shimmering inside the delicate wrappers.

To her left, a massive, rotating spit held an entire Crispy-Skin Spirit-Duck, the skin lacquered with a cherry-plum glaze that crackled and popped in the soft sunlight.

Next to the duck was a massive cast-iron cauldron bubbling with Szechuan Mala Hotpot, the dark red oil rolling with perfectly sliced, marble-grade wagyu beef, lotus roots, and floating islands of silken tofu.

She took a dazed, stumbling step forward, completely hypnotized.

The table just kept going.

There were towering, architectural masterpieces of French patisserie: Croquembouches bound with spun gold sugar, flawless, multi-layered Mille-Feuilles identical to the one she had served Yan Zhaoge, and vast, shimmering pools of perfectly tempered dark chocolate cascading down tiered fountains.

There were no obnoxious line cooks screaming for tickets.

There were no Health Inspectors threatening to dock her grade for leaving a towel on the counter.

There were no golden retrievers proposing marriage, no sword lords reciting poetry, and absolutely no yandere ice demons threatening to freeze the appetizers.

It was just her.

And the infinite, flawless, perfectly seasoned food.

"I want to live here," Ji’an breathed softly, a single, genuine tear of absolute happiness rolling down her cheek. "I don’t care about the plot anymore. I don’t care about the Stargazing Tower. I am going to build a small cottage next to the soup dumpling tower, and I am going to retire. This is it. I have won the game!"

She reached out a trembling hand, preparing to pluck a perfectly glazed, honey-barbeque pork rib from a nearby silver platter.

"Fascinating."

The voice shattered her utopian trance like a sledgehammer hitting a pane of glass.

Ji’an flinched, rapidly pulling her hand back. She turned around to see Yan Zhaoge standing a few feet away.

The Overtime Boss had survived the transit portal without a single hair out of place.

His chaotic, midnight-purple silk robes billowed slightly in the phantom breeze. He had his hands tucked casually into his wide sleeves, but his expression was deeply perplexed.

He wasn’t looking at the table. He was looking at the empty air.

"Boss!" Ji’an beamed, her usual hostility erased by the overwhelming joy of her surroundings. She gestured wildly toward the infinite banquet. "Look at this! I don’t know whose private dimension we just broke into, but they are an absolute genius! Look at the glaze on that duck! It’s flawless! The rendering of the subcutaneous fat is immaculate! Don’t just stand there and stare at nothing, go ahead and grab a plate already!"

Yan Zhaoge blinked.

He looked at Ji’an, then looked at the space she was pointing at, then looked back at Ji’an.

His dark amber eyes narrowed slightly in confusion.

"What exactly are you seeing right now, little intern?" Yan Zhaoge asked, his voice slow, measured, and highly suspicious.

Ji’an frowned, dropping her arm. "What do you mean, what am I seeing? I am seeing the greatest catering spread in the history of the universe. The never-ending table of food. The perfectly clear blue sky. The grass that feels like high-end anti-fatigue kitchen matting."

She paused, looking at his blank expression.

"You don’t... you don’t see the giant tower of soup dumplings?" Ji’an asked, pointing directly at the ten-foot-tall stack of bamboo steamers resting exactly three feet away from them.

For three seconds, Yan Zhaoge just stared at her.

He processed the information, cross-referenced the magical nature of the dimension they were currently standing in with the deeply unhinged, specific culinary description she had just provided.

And then, the Sovereign of the Iron-Stone Monastery, the terrifying, ancient demon who had just melted half a brothel and casually swatted away a heavenly tribulation, completely lost his composure.

Yan Zhaoge threw his head back and burst into a fit of loud, echoing, and entirely unrestrained laughter.

"AHAHHAHA!"

He laughed so hard he actually had to pull a hand out of his sleeve to clutch his stomach.

He doubled over, tears of pure comedic joy springing to his amber eyes. His deep, booming laughter echoed infinitely across the bright, idyllic meadow, shattering the peaceful atmosphere.

"Soup dumplings?!" Yan Zhaoge wheezed, struggling to catch his breath, pointing a shaking finger at the empty air. "A never-ending buffet table?! Oh, Heavens above, my ribs actually ache!"

Ji’an’s face instantly flushed a brilliant, furious, humiliated shade of crimson.

Her romanticized, fairy-tale awe evaporated, replaced by a surge of defensive, intense embarrassment.

"Shut up!" Ji’an snapped, instinctively bending down to grab her cast-iron spatula from the grass, brandishing it like a weapon. "What’s so funny?! It’s a beautiful spread! Anyone would be impressed by a perfectly roasted duck! Stop laughing at me, you purple-robed psychopath!"

"I cannot!" Yan Zhaoge gasped, leaning heavily against nothing, wiping a tear from his eye. "You are spectacular, Ji’an. You are a walking masterpiece of mundane absurdity."

He finally managed to compose himself, taking a deep, shuddering breath, though a massive, insufferable smirk remained plastered across his handsome face.

He looked at her, shaking his head in delighted disbelief.

"We have entered the Antechamber of the Origin," Yan Zhaoge explained, his voice still vibrating with suppressed mirth. "It is the primary security buffer surrounding the deepest core of the Stargazing Tower. It is a highly advanced, psycho-reactive illusion matrix."

He gestured broadly to the empty field around him.

"There is no grass here, Ji’an. There is no sky. There is no endless table of roasted meats and chocolate fountains."

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto her blushing face.

"This space is a blank canvas. It possesses the unique property of reflecting the deepest desires of a person’s true soul. When a cultivator enters this realm, they see what their heart yearns for above all else. For orthodox disciples, they usually see themselves ascending to godhood on a throne of golden light. For demonic lords, they see a world drowning in the blood of their conquered enemies. They see ultimate power. They see immortality."

Yan Zhaoge burst into another short fit of chuckles, unable to help himself.

"And you," he grinned, looking at the invisible buffet. "The terrifying Vanguard Leader. The anomaly who broke the combat arenas. You look into the ultimate mirror of the human soul, and you see a giant, never-ending all-you-can-eat catering gig. You are the most embarrassingly domestic creature I have ever met in three centuries."

Ji’an’s face was so hot she thought her silver hair might actually catch on fire.

The shame was absolute.

It was crushing.

He was right.

In a world full of immortals seeking dominion over the stars, her deepest, most fundamental, soul-level desire was literally just a fully stocked pantry and a nice place to sit down and eat a dumpling without being interrupted.

It was so incredibly, tragically pathetic.

"I like food! What’s so funny about it?!" Ji’an yelled defensively, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, aggressively avoiding his gaze. "It’s a very practical desire! Power is fleeting, but a good carbohydrate foundation provides sustainable energy! Don’t judge me!"

"I am not judging you, little Chef," Yan Zhaoge hummed, his voice dropping the mockery, becoming surprisingly fond. "I find it utterly charming. It proves that despite your terrifying temper and your heavy hand with a spatula... your core is uncorrupted by the madness of this world."

Ji’an huffed, looking away, staring stubbornly at a plate of phantom macarons that she now knew didn’t exist.

The fairy-tale scenery suddenly felt hollow, a mocking projection of a life she could never return to.

She turned back to Yan Zhaoge, her curiosity overriding her embarrassment.

"If this place reflects the deepest part of the soul," Ji’an muttered, narrowing her eyes at the Overtime Boss. "What do you see? Because you’re definitely not looking at a buffet."

Yan Zhaoge’s smile did not fade, but the light behind his amber eyes instantly died.