He could not force her to share her secrets.
He could not fight the ghosts in her head.
But he could pull her back to the present.
He could anchor her to the reality of the pavilion, to the warmth of the tea, and to him.
Wangchen took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing the Flawless Ice Qi that had begun to agitate the surrounding air back under absolute control.
He released his clenched fists, smoothing his expression into a mask of calm, engaging composure.
He reached across the table.
He didn’t grab her hand.
He tapped the rim of her teacup with his pristine chopstick.
Clink.
The sharp, clear sound of porcelain striking porcelain snapped Ji’an out of her internal plot analysis.
She blinked, her head jerking up, her silver-flecked eyes refocusing on his face.
"Your tea is growing cold, Ji’an," Wangchen murmured, his voice a smooth, lodic vibration that carried no trace of his internal distress. He offered a faint, reassuring smile. "And your mind is wandering paths that do not yet exist. Do not fight battles before the horn is blown."
Ji’an let out a long, ragged breath, running a hand through her hair.
The tension in her shoulders loosened slightly at the grounding sound of his voice.
"Sorry," she muttered, picking up the cup and taking a sip of the lukewarm tea. "I just... I hate not knowing what’s coming. The sect feels like a powder keg right now. Everyone is returning, flexing their auras, and I feel like I am standing in the middle of a room full of people juggling lit torches."
"The atmosphere is indeed volatile," Wangchen agreed, effortlessly shifting the conversation away from her abstract fears and toward concrete reality. He settled back into his cushion, adopting the role of the informative, reliable insider. "The Official Sect Martial Ranking is the crucible by which the hierarchy of the next decade is forged. The tension is to be expected."
He paused, pouring her a fresh, steaming cup of tea, the fragrant green liquid swirling in the moonlight.
"You have been away for five months; I guess you are unaware of the newly established paraters for the tournant," Wangchen continued, his ruby eyes holding her attention securely. "The sect elders convened while you were hunting in the swamps. They have altered the structure of the trials."
Ji’an’s tactical brain imdiately latched onto the new information. "Altered how? It’s not just a standard one-on-one elimination bracket anymore?"
"A standard bracket is insufficient to test the ttle of the current generation," Wangchen replied, a hint of aristocratic disdain coloring his tone. "The influx of talent is too high. The elders have decreed a preliminary culling."
He steepled his fingers, his deanor calm and instructional.
"The first phase of the tournant will not take place in the arena. It will take place within the Illusory Shattered Realm, a massive, enclosed pocket dinsion controlled by the sect artifacts. All participating disciples, from the outer sect novices to the sovereign heirs, will be dropped into the realm simultaneously."
Ji’an’s eyes widened. "A battle royale again? A free-for-all survival match like the one we took when entering the sect?"
"Precisely," Wangchen nodded. "Within the realm, there are no rules regarding engagent. You may form alliances, you may set traps, or you may hunt as a lone wolf. The objective is to accumulate ’Sovereign Tokens’ scattered throughout the dinsion, while simultaneously stealing the tokens of defeated competitors. The environnt itself is hostile, populated by projected beasts and lethal weather phenona."
"That is insanely dangerous," Ji’an breathed, her mind imdiately calculating the logistical nightmares of a massive, unstructured lee. "What stops the heavy hitters from just massacring the lower-level disciples in the first five minutes?"
"Each disciple is equipped with a designated escape talisman," Wangchen explained, his voice entirely devoid of concern for the weaker disciples. "If a fatal blow is struck, the talisman activates, shielding the disciple and instantly teleporting them out of the realm. They are eliminated, but they can survive. The culling will continue for three days and three nights. Only the top sixty-four disciples with the highest token counts will advance to the formal, one-on-one duels in the Grand Arena."
Ji’an sat back, her mind racing.
A massive, free-for-all survival dinsion.
It was the absolute perfect, most chaotic environnt for a Web Novel World Will to orchestrate coincidental encounters, tragic betrayals, and unexpected power-ups.
It was a playground for the plot.
Gu Zhiwei would undoubtedly shine here, forging bonds and overcoming overwhelming odds.
But it was also an incredibly dangerous place for a chef whose primary combat strategy involved hitting things with a frying pan.
"Three days in a hostile dinsion with every sociopath on this mountain," Ji’an muttered, rubbing her temples. "I need to prep more dry rations. I need to craft sensory-deprivation smoke bombs. If Lu Jianheng spots in there, he’s going to ignore the tokens and just try to duel into the dirt."
"You will not be alone," Wangchen stated.
The words were spoken softly, but they carried the immovable, absolute weight of a divine decree.
Ji’an looked up at him.
"The rules permit alliances, Ji’an," Wangchen continued, his ruby eyes glowing with a dark, intense promise. "The mont we enter the Shattered Realm, I will locate you. I will project my aura to guide you. We will hold the center, and I will freeze any disciple who dares to look in your direction."
The overwhelming relief of his offer hit her like a physical wave.
He wasn’t just offering to help; he was offering to serve as her personal, unstoppable, apocalyptic bodyguard for the entire duration of the survival match.
But her guilt imdiately flared up.
"Wangchen, no," Ji’an protested, shaking her head. "You are the newly ascended Sovereign. You are the favorite to take the number one spot on the Ranking Board. If you spend the entire three days babysitting , the other guys like Gu Zhiwei or Mo Wuchen will use the opportunity to stockpile tokens and outrank you."
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