Wangchen’s lips curved into a faint, devastatingly handso smile.
He didn’t care about the vault, the tournant, or the terrified sect watching them. He only cared that she was staying.
"I will help you carry the ingredients," Wangchen promised softly, taking his place firmly at her right side as they began the walk toward their new, shared future in the Inner Sect.
Behind them, the legend of the Demonic Chef of Class 9 was permanently etched into the annals of the Celestial Sword Sect, ensuring that nobody, not even the most arrogant elders, would ever dare to complain about the food again.
***
The Celestial Sword Sect’s Grand Plaza had transitioned from a chaotic battlefield of sparring rings into a theater of solemn, ancient tradition.
The setting sun bathed the white marble in a deep, reverent gold, signaling the comncent of the final, most crucial phase of the Grand Tournant: The Discipleship Ceremony.
At the northernmost apex of the Jade Terrace, nine towering thrones carved from spirit-wood and precious tals had been erected.
Here sat the pillars of the Sect, the Sect Leader and the eight Peak Masters.
They radiated a suffocating, majestic aura, their combined spiritual pressure a tangible weight that forced the thousands of observing disciples into utter, breathless silence.
Standing at the base of the stairs leading to these thrones were the ten victorious survivors of the Myriad Illusions Lower Realm.
They had washed the mud and blood from their faces, donned fresh, formal Inner Sect robes of pristine white, and now waited to be claid.
For the average disciple, this was the mont their destiny was forged. To be chosen by the Sword Peak ant a life of rigorous, bloody martial glory.
To be chosen by the Array Peak ant a life of scholarly prestige.
For Lin Ji’an, however, it was a mont of profound, culinary existential dread.
’Where does a chef even fit in this rigid, fantasy-martial-arts corporate ladder?’ Ji’an thought, shifting uncomfortably in her stiff new white robes. She missed her gray apron already.
’Sword Peak? No thanks, Lu Jianheng is there, and I don’t want to deal with his glaring every day during breakfast. Beast Peak? Absolutely not, Hu Yanlie would probably try to mark his territory on my pantry. Array Peak sounds like too much math.’
Her eyes drifted to a kindly-looking, middle-aged woman sitting on a throne entwined with blooming spiritual vines. Elder Hua, Master of the dicine Peak.
’That’s the ticket,’ Ji’an calculated. ’dicine Peak has the best herb gardens. They understand botany. They appreciate a good mortar and pestle. I can pitch myself as a "Dietary Alchemist" and spend the rest of my days making dicinal soups in peace!’
The ceremony began.
The process was highly formalized as the Head Elder called out a disciple’s na, and the Peak Masters would manifest their interest by sending a token of their Qi down to the disciple.
Zhang Min, the battered but brave Class 7 leader, was imdiately claid by the Sword Peak, tears of pride streaming down his face.
Mo Wuchen, maintaining his flawless facade of a delicate, sickly survivor who had miraculously scraped by, was claid by the Shadow Peak, the sect’s intelligence and assassination branch.
’Perfect fit for this psycho,’ Ji’an snorted internally, watching Wuchen offer a teary, grateful bow that had half the female audience swooning again.
Yan Lie and Chi Yun, having deliberately suppressed their demonic auras and masquerading as competent but unremarkable brute-force fighters, were absorbed into the Body Forging Peak.
Yan Lie didn’t even bow; he just grabbed the token and walked off, shooting Ji’an a glowing red, predatory smirk that promised their business was far from concluded.
Finally, the Head Elder unrolled the bottom of the golden scroll.
"Candidate #459, Lin Ji’an," the Head Elder announced, his voice carrying a note of distinct, lingering bewildernt. He was still trying to process how this boy had won a bracket by threatening to make soup. "Step forward."
Ji’an took a deep breath, stepping out from the line.
She kept her head bowed respectfully, but her eyes darted toward Elder Hua of the dicine Peak, practically telepathically screaming, ’Don’t just dawdle over there! Hurry up and pick ! I know how to perfectly julienne a mandrake root!’
Elder Hua smiled warmly.
She raised her hand, a soft green light gathering at her fingertips, preparing to send her token down to the remarkable boy who had supposedly butchered a Rank 4 beast.
But before the green light could leave her hand, the temperature on the Jade Terrace plumted.
A wave of Flawless Ice Qi, cold, absolute, and suffocating, washed over the plaza.
The green light at Elder Hua’s fingertips flickered and died, suppressed by a vastly superior cultivation base.
Sitting on the highest throne to the right of the Sect Leader, Elder Qin Changxu slowly stood up.
The ancient master of the Heartless Dao did not look angry, nor did he look pleased. His face was a mask of carved glacial ice.
He looked down at Lin Ji’an with eyes that held the terrifying detachnt of a surgeon evaluating a tumor.
"The Eternal Cloud Peak," Elder Qin’s voice echoed, cold and vibrating with undeniable authority, "has lacked a stabilizing elent for many years. This disciple possesses a unique... constitution. He shall co to my peak."
The entire plaza gasped.
The Eternal Cloud Peak was legendary for its exclusivity. Elder Qin only ever took one disciple per generation.
He already had Xie Wangchen, the supre Flawless Ice Root. To take a second disciple, especially a boy with a Chaotic Root whose only known skill was culinary arts, was unprecedented.
It broke every tradition in the sect’s history.
Down in the audience, Xie Wangchen’s head snapped up.
The Ice Genius had been standing with the other elite disciples, his deanor dark and brooding.
But the mont he heard his Master’s words, a brilliant, blinding spark of pure joy ignited in his dark eyes.
’Brother Lin is coming to my peak?’ Wangchen’s heart hamred against his ribs.
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