The top sixteen disciples were called to the podiums.
Elaborate, priceless artifacts were distributed.
High-grade Spirit-Weapons, ancient manuals, and spatial rings overflowing with cultivation resources were handed out to the victors. The sect masters from various peaks formally accepted new inner disciples from the outer ranks, swelling their numbers.
Through it all, the foreign elders actively avoided making eye contact with Lin Ji’an.
They handed her the ceremonial leader’s token with trembling hands, practically throwing it at her chest before retreating to safety, constantly checking over their shoulders to ensure the terrifying shadow of Jiu Zui wasn’t preparing to manifest and choke them out.
As the crowds finally began to disperse, the roaring cheers fading into the excited chatter of the exiting thousands, the formal facade collapsed.
Ji’an didn’t linger to sign autographs for the weeping maidens.
She didn’t stay to bask in the glory of her newfound status.
She turned on her heel, bypassed the crowd of historians, and made a beeline directly for the VIP executive box.
The heavy oak doors of the private executive lounge swung open.
Master Jiu Zui was sitting comfortably in a plush armchair, his boots propped up on a priceless jade table, casually peeling a spirit-grape. He was alone in the room, the other elders having wisely evacuated to avoid his lingering aura.
He didn’t look up as the door opened.
"You ruined your red combat sash, brat," Jiu Zui grunted, popping the grape into his mouth. "The tailor is going to weep when you return it."
The terrifying Apex Anomaly of the Shattered Realm, the blood-soaked, spatula-wielding demon who had just broken the Sword Lord’s will and survived a three-day crucible vanished.
Lin Ji’an didn’t strut into the room.
She bounded.
She practically hopped across the plush carpets, completely abandoning her young-master arrogance, her silver-flecked eyes shining with the desperate need for parental validation.
"Master!" Ji’an beamed, stopping right in front of his chair, practically vibrating with excitement. She pointed to herself, her chest puffed out, looking exactly like a golden retriever that had just successfully fetched a very large stick.
"Did you see the punch?!" Ji’an bragged, completely dropping her voice back to its natural, slightly higher, enthusiastic pitch. "Did you see the crater?! I didn’t even use the wok! I just used raw kinetic transfer! I bypassed the Sword Lord’s guard! Tell me my form was perfect! Tell me I’m the best cook on this mountain!"
She hovered there, practically vibrating, waiting for her praise.
It was a staggering, completely jarring cognitive dissonance.
If the Azure Lotus maidens or the Crimson Blade brawlers had seen their terrifying God of War currently begging for a head-pat like a spoiled toddler, their brains would have permanently short-circuited.
But Ji’an didn’t care about her reputation right now.
In this massive, terrifying Xianxia world, filled with manipulative princes, obsessive immortals, and absentee fathers, Master Jiu Zui was the only constant. He was the only person who had looked at a scrawny, disguised teenager holding a frying pan and seen limitless potential. He didn’t care about the plot, didn’t care about the gender disguise. He just cared about her.
He was the grumpy, alcoholic, incredibly dangerous grandfather she never knew she needed.
Jiu Zui looked at the hopping chef in front of him.
The immortal let out a long, heavy, deeply exasperated sigh, attempting to maintain his gruff exterior.
But his dark eyes betrayed him.
They softened, crinkling at the corners with an overwhelming, fiercely protective warmth. He reached out with his large, calloused hand and delivered two firm, heavy, affectionate pats to the crown of her messy, soot-covered hair.
"Your form was sloppy. You telegraphed the strike by dropping your shoulder, and your footwork on the landing was atrocious," Jiu Zui lied effortlessly, though a faint, proud smile tugged at his lips. "But... the crater was adequate. You did well, brat. You didn’t embarrass my peak."
Ji’an’s smile widened so much it threatened to split her face in half. "I’ll fix the footwork next time! I promise!"
Jiu Zui grunted, reaching his free hand into the deep, voluminous folds of his purple Sovereign robes.
He rummaged around for a moment, frowning.
"Here," Jiu Zui muttered, pulling his hand out and tossing a small, incredibly unremarkable-looking object casually through the air.
Ji’an caught it with both hands.
She looked down.
It was a small, intricately carved pendant made of dull, gray stone. It looked old and battered, like something you would find at the bottom of a discount bin in a mortal flea market.
But as Ji’an’s senses brushed against the stone, her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.
The Qi radiating from the tiny pendant was not just ancient; it was primordial.
It possessed a defensive density that made the absolute zero of the Ice Demon feel like a light breeze.
It was an artifact of unfathomable, continental-level power.
"Master..." Ji’an whispered, her hands trembling as she held the stone. "What... what is this? This feels like it could deflect a meteor."
"It’s a trinket," Jiu Zui waved his hand dismissively, picking up his wine gourd. "The Aegis of the Sleeping Turtle. It’s a passive defensive ward. It absorbs kinetic shock. Found it in a cave three hundred years ago. It’s been sitting at the bottom of my sock drawer gathering dust. Consider it your prize for not getting squashed by the centipedes."
He was casually, blithely handing over an artifact that would have caused a continental war if it had been put up for auction, treating it exactly like a grandfather handing a piece of hard butterscotch candy to a child for getting a good grade on a spelling test.
"I... I can’t take this," Ji’an protested weakly, overwhelmed by the value of the gift.
"Put it on your belt or I’ll throw it out the window," Jiu Zui threatened lazily, taking a long swig of wine.
Ji’an immediately tied the pendant securely to her Szechuan Red combat sash, unwilling to test his threat. She looked down at the dull stone, a sudden, heavy lump forming in her throat.
The adrenaline of the tournament was fading, replaced by the stark, exhausting reality of her new assignment.
"Master," Ji’an murmured, her bright enthusiasm dimming, her shoulders slumping slightly as she looked down at the plush carpet. "They’re making me leave again, for a long six months. I have to drag sixteen idiots across the continent for a diplomatic tour."
She looked up at him, her silver-flecked eyes wide and painfully vulnerable.
"I don’t want to go," Ji’an admitted, the arrogant young master persona stripped away, leaving only a homesick, exhausted girl. "I finally got the kitchen set up the way I like it. The peach trees are going to bloom soon. I don’t want to sleep in foreign inns and pretend to be polite to rival elders. I just want to stay on the peak and cook."
It was the most honest, unfiltered thing she had said since transmigrating. She had fought tooth and nail to carve out her own sanctuary on the Drunken Peak, and now the plot was violently ripping her away from it again.
Jiu Zui stopped drinking. He lowered his wine gourd, looking at the tired, sad expression on his apprentice’s face.
The old man didn’t scoff.
He didn’t tell her to toughen up.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his presence expanding to fill the room with a warm, heavy, incredibly grounding gravity.
"Ji’an," Jiu Zui rumbled softly, his voice dropping into a tone of paternal seriousness. "The kitchen will still be here when you return. The woks will not rust, and the fire pits will not run cold. I will ensure it."
He looked her dead in the eyes, his dark gaze piercing straight to her core.
"I know you hate the politics. I know you hate the attention. But you cannot hide behind the bamboo gate forever, brat. You have outgrown the frying pan. You need to see the world, and more importantly, the world needs to realize exactly what kind of monster I have trained."
He paused, a faint, nostalgic, slightly wicked glimmer entering his eyes.
"Besides," Jiu Zui added, a slow smirk spreading across his handsome face. "This tour is not entirely a waste of your culinary talents. Among the sects you are mandated to visit... there is the Iron-Stone Monastery in the western dunes."