She picked up the artifact and put it on, erasing the soft curves of her true gender, flattening her torso into the solid, unyielding plane of a male martial artist.
Then she reached for a fresh set of inner robes.
Crisp, blinding white silk.
She pulled them on, securing the collar high and tight against her throat.
Next came the outer robes.
She didn’t choose the subdued, gray apron of a simple cook today, but went to her armoire and pulled out a fresh, immaculate set of Szechuan Red robes. The fabric was glowing with aggressive, vibrant intent.
She threw the red silk over her shoulders, relishing the heavy, authoritative weight of the garment.
She picked up the newly gifted artifact, the dull, gray stone Aegis of the Sleeping Turtle, and tied it securely to her wide, red leather combat corset-belt alongside her spatial ring.
Finally, she walked over to the bedside table.
She picked up the Black Iron Spatula. She ran her thumb along the smooth, perfectly seasoned edge of the heavy cast iron, strapped it securely to her calf, ensuring the retention buckles were tight.
Ji’an looked at herself in the bronze mirror.
The girl who had cried into a pillow was gone.
The transmigrator who just wanted a bakery was locked away in the iron box.
Staring back at her was Lin Ji’an. The Third-Generation Martial Uncle of the Drunken Peak.
The Apex Anomaly.
The Iron Wok Demon.
She tilted her chin up.
She allowed a slow, dark, incredibly cocky, supremely arrogant smirk to spread across her lips. The smirk reached her silver-flecked eyes, illuminating them with a chaotic, brilliant, deeply toxic young-master energy.
"Alright, universe," Ji’an drawled to her reflection, her voice dropping perfectly into her smooth, unbothered, commanding baritone. "You want to play games with clones and reverse-harems? You want me to chaperone a continental diplomatic tour?"
She cracked her knuckles, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
"The kitchen is open. And I’m going to make this entire continent my prep station."
She turned on her heel, her red robes snapping sharply with her movement, and kicked the heavy spirit-wood doors of her bedchamber wide open.
Stepping out into the bright morning sunlight of the Drunken Peak courtyard, Ji’an didn’t look back at the pulverized bed.
She strutted toward the outdoor kitchen, her swagger impeccable, fully prepared to terrorize her new tour group and absolutely, categorically refuse to process her trauma for the next six months.
***
The Grand Plaza of the Celestial Sword Sect, usually a place of austere martial discipline and quiet meditation, was currently operating at the decibel level of a continental sports championship.
It was the morning of the Vanguard Tour’s departure.
Thousands of disciples, spanning from the lowest outer-sect sweepers to the highest inner-sect prodigies, had crowded the plaza boundaries to catch a glimpse of the sixteen elite survivors who were about to embark on the six-month, cross-continental diplomatic exchange.
Banners snapped in the crisp morning wind. The air was thick with the smell of burning incense, nervous sweat, and the overwhelming scent of competitive testosterone.
Standing at the center of the plaza, looking like she would rather be peeling ten thousand potatoes than participating in this farewell ceremony, was Lin Ji’an.
She stood with her weight shifted lazily to one leg, her arms crossed, projecting an aura of tyrannical, young-master apathy.
"Look at him," a junior female disciple swooned loudly from the front row of the crowd, clutching a silk handkerchief to her chest. "Martial Uncle Lin looks so bored by our mortal adulation. The absolute tragic ennui of a true culinary genius!"
"I heard he sleeps on a bed made of the shattered swords of his enemies," a novice boy whispered in reverent terror.
Ji’an’s eye twitched. ’I sleep on a mattress that I literally beat to death with my bare hands last night, but sure, let’s go with the sword thing,’ she grumbled internally.
She turned her attention away from the fanatical crowd and assessed her new touring group.
There were sixteen disciples in total.
To her mild surprise, three of the sixteen were women. One was Fairy Xue, the leader of the Azure Crane Pavilion who had tried to rescue Zechuan from Ji’an’s "bullying" in the woods.
Fairy Xue was currently standing as far away from Ji’an as possible, her veil trembling, her eyes darting toward the chef with a deeply confusing mixture of absolute terror and undeniable, blushing intrigue.
The other two were fierce, battle-hardened cultivators who looked like they chewed glass for breakfast.
The remaining thirteen were all men.
And it was a complete, unmitigated disaster of BL-novel harem dynamics.
Gu Zhiwei, the Golden Retriever and ordained main character, was bouncing on the balls of his feet, radiating blinding, righteous holy light.
And naturally, his entire canonical harem of toxic, overpowered love interests had survived the cut.
Wen Shiru, the calculating Fox, was adjusting his silver spectacles, his jade cane resting lightly on the marble. Hu Yanlie, the feral Beast Lord, was practically vibrating with aggressive, unexpended Yang energy, glaring at anyone who looked at Ji’an for too long.
Mo Wuchen, the Shadow Assassin, was leaning against a stone pillar, merging with the shadows. Xiao Yichen, the Second Prince, casually fanned himself, having a silent staring contest with Lu Jianheng.
And then, there were Ji’an’s personal headaches.
Standing entirely too close to her left flank, actively freezing the ambient moisture in the air to ensure Ji’an remained cool in the morning sun, was Xie Wangchen.
The Ice Demon’s ruby eyes were locked in a terrifying death-glare aimed at the rest of the tour group, a silent promise that if any of them breathed on her, they would be turned into a glacier.
Standing on her right, happily holding her four-hundred-pound Black Iron Wok like a handbag, was Shen Zechuan.
The abyssal prodigy and walking existential paradox, was completely ignoring the solemnity of the ceremony.
He was currently trying to unwrap a sticky-rice bun he had secreted away in his sleeve, his dark eyes wide and vacant.