Elder Viper’s slitted yellow eyes glinted. "A pragmatic philosophy. Unorthodox for someone of Orthodox sect elder of a sword sect, but highly effective for surviving the poison valleys. The Azure Dragon Sect values pragmatism over pride!"
"I value comfort over everything," Ji’an corrected, reaching into her cooling box. "You look parched, Elder. Care for a chilled plum? I fermented them in a mild ginger-wine solution. It clears the throat."
Elder Viper paused.
In the orthodox world, accepting food from an unknown cultivator, especially one from a rival sect, was a massive taboo due to the risk of assassination via ingested poisons.
But the old man looked at the perfectly chilled, dark purple plum resting in Ji’an’s palm. He smelled the faint, incredibly soothing aroma of ginger and aged wine.
’I am the premier poison master of the eastern basin,’ Elder Viper’s arrogance reasoned. ’If the boy attempts to poison me, my blood will neutralize it instantly. And my throat is indeed quite dry.’
Elder Viper extended a pale, scaly hand, plucking the plum from her palm. He tossed it into his mouth and bit down.
The reaction was instantaneous.
The old man’s slitted eyes widened.
The chilled, ginger-infused wine exploded across his palate, perfectly balancing the tart, sweet flesh of the plum. It didn’t just clear his throat; the high-grade Qi immediately, effortlessly soothed the chronic, burning inflammation in his lungs caused by centuries of inhaling his own toxic miasma arrays.
It was a revelation.
It was the best thing he had tasted in four hundred years!
Elder Viper coughed softly, desperately trying to maintain his terrifying, venomous aura, but a faint, unmistakable flush of satisfaction warmed his pale, scaly cheeks.
"The... the fermentation profile is... adequate," Elder Viper hissed, unable to hide the slight tremble of awe in his raspy voice. He looked down at the teenage chef lounging on the palm leaf. "Your understanding of herbal synergy is profound, Lin Ji’an. The Azure Dragon Alchemists will be... highly interested in conversing with you upon our arrival."
"I don’t do alchemy, Elder," Ji’an smiled, popping a grape into her mouth. "Alchemy is just cooking with terrible flavor profiles. But I’ll gladly trade some recipes for access to your sect’s herb gardens."
"We shall see," Elder Viper murmured, flying a little closer to the palm-leaf, abandoning his post at the front of the formation just to linger near the source of the delicious snacks.
Behind them, the other disciples watched in absolute disbelief.
Not only was the Iron Wok Demon flying in absolute luxury while they burned under the sun, but he had also effortlessly, casually bribed and befriended the terrifying, antisocial poison-master guide using a fermented plum.
"He is unstoppable," Mo Wuchen, the Assassin, whispered to Hu Yanlie, wiping sweat from his metallic mask. "He who controls the stomachs, controls the realm."
"Just keep flying," Yanlie grunted, his beast-fire aura completely useless against the sun. "And pray he decides to make dinner when we land."
***
While Ji’an bantered with Elder Viper, she noticed a shift in the atmospheric pressure above her head.
The blistering heat of the sun was entirely cut off.
A shadow fell over the palm-leaf yacht.
Ji’an looked up.
Hovering exactly ten feet above her, flying in perfect, synchronized tandem with her fan, was Xie Wangchen.
The Ice Demon was standing on his diamond-ice platform. But he hadn’t just created a platform for his feet.
He had expanded the Qi of his Flawless Ice Root outward, creating a flat, transparent canopy of reinforced ice directly above Ji’an’s fan.
It was acting as a high-altitude sunshade. The ice refracted the harsh sunlight, bathing Ji’an’s yacht in a soft, cool, incredibly refreshing blue light, blocking the UV rays while allowing the gentle breeze to flow.
Wangchen stood atop the canopy, his silver hair flowing, his hands resting elegantly behind his back, looking down at her through the transparent ice.
His ruby eyes were dark and smug.
"The sun is harsh in these latitudes, Brother Ji’an," Wangchen’s smooth, melodic voice echoed down through the ice, carrying a tone of absolute, protective arrogance. "I would not have the glare disturb your rest. Proceed with your leisure. I shall serve as your firmament."
Ji’an stared up at the massive, hovering ice-umbrella.
She looked at the sweating, sunburned disciples behind them, who were glaring up at Wangchen’s blatantly unfair display of environmental favoritism with looks of dehydrated jealousy.
Ji’an couldn’t help it.
She let out a soft, genuine, fond laugh, shaking her head.
’He is ridiculous,’ Ji’an thought, her heart doing that familiar, terrifyingly warm flutter in her chest. ’He is a walking, talking, apocalyptic weapon of mass destruction, and he is using his ultimate techniques to act as a custom-built parasol so I don’t get a sunburn while eating melon.’
She didn’t yell at him to move. She didn’t tell him to stop babying her.
Ji’an reached into her cooling box, pulled out the largest, crispest, most perfectly chilled slice of Frost-Melon she had left.
She didn’t toss it up. She infused a tiny spark of Qi into the fruit, sending it floating gently upward, passing through a small, accommodating gap Wangchen opened in his ice canopy.
The melon drifted perfectly into Wangchen’s waiting hand.
Wangchen looked at the chilled fruit. He looked down through the ice at the Chef, who was lounging on her palm leaf, offering him a small, rare smile of gratitude.
The Ice Demon’s heart skipped a beat.
He didn’t eat the melon immediately. He held it carefully, as if it were a priceless, divine artifact, his ruby eyes glowing with a dark, euphoric, victorious light.
The high-altitude airspace above the Scorched Plateaus had effectively devolved into a visible, petty, multi-tiered hierarchy of culinary privilege.
Lin Ji’an, lounging comfortably on her massive, hovering palm-leaf yacht under the refreshing, UV-blocking canopy of Xie Wangchen’s bespoke ice-umbrella, was actively operating as the undisputed monarch of the snack economy.
Having already gifted the Ice Demon with the premium, perfectly chilled slice of Frost-Melon, Ji’an reached back into her portable jade cooling box.
The grueling, three-hundred-mile-per-hour flight was burning the other disciples’ calories at an astronomical rate, and she was, at her core, a chef who could not stand the sound of rumbling stomachs.
"Catch, Zechuan," Ji’an called out lazily, tossing a small, neatly tied oil-paper bag across the gap.
Shen Zechuan, currently floating on his disc of abyssal void-energy, reached out with both hands and caught the bag with the eager, wide-eyed precision of a child catching a butterfly.
He unrolled the paper. Inside was a generous portion of Spiced Crystal-Mantis Jerky, dehydrated with a perfect blend of sweet plum glaze and a kick of roasted demon-horn chili.
Zechuan’s dark, bottomless eyes immediately lit up with unadulterated joy.
"You remembered my preference for the tingling spices, Uncle Ji’an!" Zechuan beamed, his tragic-prince aesthetic completely ruined by his massive, goofy smile. He happily popped a piece of the red, glistening jerky into his mouth, chewing with oblivious contentment. "This is phenomenal. It is chewy, yet it melts. I shall treasure every bite!"
"Just don’t drop the crumbs on your clothes, I don’t want you attracted ants when we get down," Ji’an chuckled, reaching into the box a third time.
She pulled out another oil-paper bag, slightly smaller, filled with honey-roasted spirit-walnuts and dried lotus petals. She infused a tiny spark of kinetic Qi into the package and lobbed it toward the front of the formation.
"Zhiwei! Heads up!"
Gu Zhiwei, who was currently standing rigidly on his glowing broadsword of holy light, his golden hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, turned his head just in time to catch the bag against his chest.
The Golden Retriever’s face instantly brightened. "Brother Lin! You are a saint of the highest order! I was beginning to feel lightheaded from the unrelenting exposure to the sun!"
Zhiwei eagerly opened the bag, his stomach rumbling in anticipation. He looked at the handful of sweet, honey-roasted walnuts.
He smiled.
And then, his golden eyes darted upward.
He looked at Xie Wangchen.
The Ice Demon was standing atop his magnificent, custom-built glacial canopy, holding a dripping, incredibly juicy, perfectly chilled wedge of high-grade Frost-Melon.
Zhiwei looked back down at his small bag of dry walnuts.
The Holy Son’s blinding, righteous aura of positivity instantly dimmed.
An incredibly dramatic, and pathetic pout formed on his handsome face.
His broad shoulders slumped as he looked like a puppy that had just been handed a dry biscuit while watching the neighbor’s cat receive a premium cut of salmon.