Mo Wuchen’s smile widened by a fraction of an inch. It was a microscopic shift, but to Ji’an’s trained eyes, it scread danger.
’Ah. So this is the "Boss",’ Mo Wuchen’s inner thoughts purred. ’The one who didn’t get into the water. How is he controlling his Qi so easily? Isn’t he a newcor? Looks like he is no easy person. How fascinating. He can see right through .’
Mo Wuchen pushed off the rock, gliding smoothly through the water until he reached the shallows near the riverbank.
He stood up, the water cascading off his willow-green robes, and walked slowly toward Ji’an.
He moved like a dancer, every step calculated to project harmless vulnerability. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering slightly, looking up at Ji’an through his wet bangs.
"Senior Brother Lin, is it?" Mo Wuchen’s voice trembled perfectly. "I am Mo Wuchen. I am feeling so cold. Do you mind if I share your fire, brother Lin?"
He was close now.
Close enough that Ji’an could sll the fresh water and the faint, tallic tang of blood hidden beneath the scent of the river, a scent that Tang Bo and the guards were entirely oblivious to.
Ji’an didn’t step back or blush; she didn’t fall for the act.
Instead, she raised the skewer of roasted snake at and pointed it directly at his chest, halting his advance.
"The fire is communal," Ji’an said, her voice completely devoid of inflection. "But personal space is not. Keep a three-foot distance, Junior Brother Mo. And don’t drip on my spatial bag."
Mo Wuchen stopped. He looked at the skewer pointing at his heart. Then he looked at Ji’an’s face.
For the briefest of seconds, the coy, gentle mask slipped.
The amber eyes darkened, flashing with genuine, psychopathic intrigue.
No one ever told him to keep his distance. People either wanted to kill him or bed him.
But this grey-robed chef was treating him like a slightly annoying stray cat that might have fleas.
"Of course, Senior Brother," Mo Wuchen smiled, stepping back exactly three feet and sitting elegantly on a rock near the fire. He tilted his head. "You are very cautious. It’s an admirable trait in the Lower Realm. One can never be too careful about who... or what... drops in."
"Exactly," Ji’an replied dryly, tossing him a spare towel she had pulled from her bag. "Dry your hair. And put so clothes on. The Princess is sleeping in the cave, and I don’t need her waking up to a wet-t-shirt contest."
Mo Wuchen caught the towel. He laughed, a genuine, breathy chuckle that sent a shiver down the spines of the disciples who were still in the water.
"You are very interesting, Brother Lin," Mo Wuchen murmured, dragging the towel through his dark hair, never taking his eyes off her.
"I’m really not," Ji’an lied. "I’m just a normal chef."
***
If the tension by the river was a slow burn, the atmosphere outside the realm in the Assembly Plaza was a raging inferno.
The sudden appearance of Mo Wuchen had caused another massive spike in viewer engagent.
"He fell from the cliff! Is he okay?!" "Look at how his robes cling to him... the Heavens are truly blessing our eyes today!" "Wait, why is he flirting with the Class 9 boys? Is he... You know?"
The female disciples were squealing over the wet, tragic beauty of the assassin, while the male disciples were fiercely debating whether Mo Wuchen’s fall was an accident or a tactical maneuver.
Up on the jade terrace, the VIPs were having very different reactions.
Gu Zhiwei, who possessed a pure heart but a shockingly dense head for romance, watched the screen with wide eyes. "Brother Mo is so friendly! He makes friends instantly! But why did Brother Lin point a at skewer at him? Is he offering him food?"
Xiao Yichen, the Second Prince, leaned against the railing, a dark, knowing chuckle escaping his lips. "Oh, the little guy has found a target that doesn’t bite the bait. Little Uncle is playing with a viper, and he’s doing it by completely ignoring it."
But once again, the true storm was brewing at the edge of the terrace.
Xie Wangchen was no longer radiating cold.
The air around him was visibly warping, the spiritual pressure so imnse that the jade tiles beneath his boots were spider-webbing with deep, jagged fissures.
He was staring at Mo Wuchen.
He saw the way the assassin had erged from the water. He saw the coquettish smile, the lingering touches on Tang Bo. He saw exactly what kind of ga Mo Wuchen was playing.
But what enraged him, what made the blood in his veins turn to liquid nitrogen, was the way Mo Wuchen looked at Lin Ji’an.
Wangchen recognised that look.
It was the look of a predator finding a puzzle it wanted to take apart piece by piece.
’He is staring at him like that with these snake-like eyes, that bastard...’ Wangchen’s inner demon snarled.
Mo Wuchen was dripping wet, sitting by Lin Ji’an’s fire, looking at him with those deceitful, snake-like eyes.
Wangchen felt a sudden, profound wave of relief that Ji’an had not gotten into the water.
The thought of that wet, smiling assassin touching Ji’an, wrapping his arms around him in the river under the guise of "fear," made Wangchen want to vomit and commit mass murder simultaneously.
But the relief was quickly overshadowed by intense, burning paranoia.
Mo Wuchen was dangerous. And Wangchen was stuck outside, seventy hours away from being able to rip the assassin’s head off.
"Master," Wangchen said, his voice entirely devoid of its usual respectful tone. It was a cold, absolute demand.
Elder Qin sighed, pouring another cup of tea. "Wangchen, I have already told you—"
"I am not asking to enter early," Wangchen interrupted, his eyes glowing with an abyssal, terrifying blue light as he stared at the screen.
He slowly turned his head to look at his Master. The sheer, overwhelming weight of his aura made even the seasoned Elder pause.
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