"And you’re giving it to ?" Ji’an tried to pull her hand back, but his grip tightened. "Wangchen, no! You’re the one in the spotlight! Everyone is going to be targeting you! The Sword Lord, that foxy guy with slit eyes, and the weird guys from the Beast Peak all want to take down the ’Ice Genius’. You need this!"
"I do not need it," Wangchen said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "I have my sword. I have my ice. But you..."
He leaned in.
He moved into her personal space, bracing one hand on the wall behind her head, effectively trapping her.
The scent of snow and cold mountain air enveloped her, intoxicating and overwhelming.
"...You are in Class 9," he continued, his dark eyes boring into hers. "You are entering the illusion realm with no spiritual weapon, only a spatula and a bag of peppers. If sothing happens to you... if you get hurt..."
His eyes flashed with that dangerous red light for a fraction of a second.
"...I will burn the Sect to the ground."
Ji’an swallowed hard. Her throat felt dry.
This wasn’t just about protective brotherly instinct anymore.
She looked at the bracelet. It was priceless, and he was giving it to her without a second thought.
"Wangchen," she said softly. "You worry too much. I have the Golden Bell talisman, and I’m very slippery."
Honestly, if sothing has to happen, then it would happen to the protagonist. Why would trouble find ?
"Take it," Wangchen insisted. He began to tie the bracelet around her wrist himself. His movents were precise, almost reverent. "Or I will not participate tomorrow. I will stand guard outside this door instead."
Ji’an sighed. She knew he wasn’t bluffing.
"Fine. I’ll take it." She watched him secure the clasp. "But only if you promise to be careful. If you get hurt because you gave your armor, I’m going to be very angry. I’ll put cilantro in your soup. Lots of it."
Wangchen’s lips quirked up in a faint, ghost of a smile. "I promise."
He finished tying the bracelet. But he didn’t pull away, he stayed there, his hand lingering on her wrist, his body looming over hers.
Ji’an looked up at him. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
She could feel his gaze dissecting her. He wasn’t looking at her like a brother looks at a brother.
He was looking at her like a starving man looks at a feast he isn’t allowed to touch yet.
She rembered the story, the Heartless Dao.
Elder Qin cultivated the path of ice, cutting off emotions to achieve supre power. He wanted Wangchen to do the sa. To freeze his heart so it would never break.
’He’s supposed to be heartless,’ Ji’an thought, looking at the intensity in Wangchen’s eyes. ’But look at him. He’s burning up.’
In the original novel, Elder Qin’s heart had only thawed when he t Gu Zhiwei, the Protagonist, whose "Holy Light" ward the eternal winter.
It was a classic trope: The Ice Master lted by the Sun Child.
Ji’an felt a pang of sympathy. Wangchen was fighting his nature. He was fighting his Master’s teachings, his own cultivation thod, just to co here and give her a bracelet.
’He needs soone,’ Ji’an reasoned, trying to ignore the way her own heart was skipping beats. ’He needs a Gu Zhiwei. Soone bright, soone who can stand next to him in the light.’
The irony was lost on her. She was so busy trying to cast the role of "Savior" that she didn’t realize she had already been cast, costud, and shoved onto the stage.
She reached up.
Hesitantly, she placed her hand on top of his head. His hair was soft, like silk, cold to the touch.
She patted him on the back gently and awkwardly, like one would pat a large, dangerous wolf.
"You’re a good kid, Wangchen," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to sound casual. "Thank you. For thinking of ."
Wangchen froze at the touch.
His eyes widened slightly.
He didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into her hand. He lowered his head, pressing his forehead against her palm, closing his eyes.
A shudder ran through his body.
It wasn’t a shudder of cold. It was a shudder of pure, agonizing relief.
To Wangchen, her hand was the only anchor in a world that was trying to turn him into a weapon.
His Master told him to forget warmth, the Sect told him to be a monster, and the Princess told him he was a slave.
But Lin Ji’an... Lin Ji’an touched him as if he were precious.
He breathed in the scent of her palm, which was of flour, spices, and skin.
"I am not a kid," Wangchen murmured against her hand, his voice vibrating against her skin. "And I am not good."
He turned his face slightly, pressing his cheek into her palm, nuzzling into the warmth.
"I am selfish, Ji’an. I gave you the artifact not because I am noble... but because I am terrified."
He opened his eyes. They were dark, bottomless, and filled with a raw, naked emotion that made Ji’an’s breath catch.
"If the world takes you," he whispered, "I will have nothing left."
The ambiguity in the air thickened into sothing solid. The line between "Master and Servant" or "Brothers" had been obliterated. This was intimate and undeniable.
Ji’an felt a flush rising in her neck. Her "Single Dog" defenses were crumbling.
She was wearing thin nightclothes, sitting in the dark, petting the head of a gorgeous villain who was confessing his soul to her.
’System,’ she scread internally. ’Is this a romance flag? This feels like a romance flag! Why is my heart doing backflips? I’m supposed to be the cool uncle character!’
She tried to pull her hand back, but Wangchen caught it.
He held her hand against his cheek for one second longer, soaking in the warmth, before slowly lowering it.
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