As she stared out over the waterfall, mentally calculating the exact ratio of sugar to yeast required to overpower a neurotoxin, she felt a subtle shift in the air behind her.
The ambient temperature didn’t drop, but the damp, humid air of the miasma valley grew crisp, clean, and comfortably cool.
Ji’an didn’t turn around.
She recognized that atmospheric signature anywhere.
"Shouldn’t you be asleep by now, Wangchen?" Ji’an asked softly, leaning her chin on her hands.
Ten minutes prior, inside the luxurious, silk-draped corridors of the Azure Zenith Pavilion, Xie Wangchen had been experiencing a rare moment of confusion.
The Ice Demon had been standing outside Ji’an’s designated quarters, his arms crossed, his ruby eyes narrowed in dark, brooding thought.
He had watched her walk out to the balcony alone. He had seen the rigid set of her shoulders and the unmistakable, sour tension radiating from her red robes.
He wanted to follow her. He wanted to shatter the obsidian railing, wrap her in a cloak of frost-silk, and eliminate whatever was causing her distress.
But as he had stepped forward, a hand had gently tugged on the pristine white sleeve of his robes.
Wangchen turned his head, his lethal glare snapping down.
Standing beside him was Shen Zechuan. The abyssal airhead was holding a half-eaten candied hawthorn berry, looking up at Wangchen with wide, dark, and innocent eyes.
"Brother Xie, you should go to Ji’an," Zechuan whispered, his voice lacking any of the forced, tragic-prince brooding. "Ji’an is sad. His shoulders are doing the drooping thing. Whenever his shoulders do the drooping thing, he needs someone to stand next to him."
Wangchen stared at the Senior Apprentice.
In the complex, competitive, territorial ecosystem of the Vanguard Retinue, Wangchen viewed every single male protagonist as a lethal threat to his romantic monopoly. He wanted to bury Lu Jianheng in a glacier, shatter Gu Zhiwei’s holy light, and feed Hu Yanlie to a woodchipper.
But when he looked at Shen Zechuan... he felt nothing.
There was no burning, possessive jealousy. There was no urge to draw Winter’s Sigh.
It was a mystery that Wangchen’s brain had been struggling to process for the last few days. Zechuan spent more time with Ji’an than anyone else, carried her wok, ate her cooking. By all logical metrics, Wangchen should have despised him with the heat of a thousand suns.
’Why do I tolerate him so much?’ Wangchen mused, his ruby eyes scanning Zechuan’s face.
And then, as Zechuan took another happy bite of the candied fruit, completely unbothered by the Ice Demon’s terrifying aura, the answer clicked into place.
It was those eyes.
When Gu Zhiwei looked at Ji’an, his golden eyes shone with romantic, hero-worshipping adoration. When Lu Jianheng looked at her, his eyes burned with conflicted, tsundere obsession.
But when Shen Zechuan looked at Ji’an, there was zero romantic tension.
None.
It was a void of lust. Zechuan looked at her the exact same way a very large, loyal guard dog looks at a beloved toddler. It was pure, unconditional, platonic, sibling-esque devotion.
He didn’t want to conquer her; he just wanted to make sure she didn’t trip over a rock.
Zechuan didn’t emit the aura of a rival.
He emitted the cool aura of a... brother-in-law?
And Wangchen, possessing the foresight similar of an immortal emperor, immediately recognized the political value of having the "brother-in-law" on his side.
"I am aware of his distress," Wangchen murmured softly, his tone completely lacking its usual homicidal edge when addressing other men. "But he already dismissed us all;. he probably needs some time alone, wouldn’t it be rude to break order and go to him now?"
Zechuan shook his head, chewing thoughtfully. "My Ji’an always says things he doesn’t mean when he is grumpy. He yelled at me to put down a purple flower, but he actually meant ’thank you for the flower, but it is melting my boots.’ You are very good at making the air cold. The air here is very sticky. You should go make him cold. Maybe, it will improve his mood."
The abyssal prodigy patted Wangchen’s arm, a gesture that would have resulted in instant amputation for anyone else, and happily wandered off down the hall to find more snacks.
Wangchen stood in the corridor, looking after the retreating figure of the Senior Apprentice.
’He is remarkably perceptive for a man who tried to build a sandcastle out of neurotoxins,’ Wangchen concluded.
He didn’t hesitate any longer as he turned on his heel and stepped out into the night air.
***
Ji’an didn’t turn around as the crisp, clean, chilled air enveloped her. The stifling humidity of the Azure Dragon Sect was instantly banished, replaced by the refreshing, pristine atmosphere of a high-altitude winter morning.
Wangchen stepped up to the obsidian railing, standing exactly one foot to her right. Close enough to provide comfort, but meticulously observing her boundaries so as not to crowd her.
He didn’t wear his usual arrogant smirk, not playing the untouchable deity.
He rested his forearms on the railing, mirroring her posture, and looked out over the glowing green waterfalls.
"I am notoriously poor at following instructions, Chef," Wangchen murmured, his rich, melodic voice low and soothing. "You ordered the Retinue to bed. But my core requires no sleep. And the ambient heat of this valley is... offensive."
Ji’an let out a soft, genuine huff of amusement. "You’re already half an immortal, Wangchen. The heat doesn’t bother you. You just wanted an excuse to come out here and hover around."
"I am discovering that hovering is one of my primary talents," Wangchen admitted shamelessly, turning his head slightly to look at her profile.
He noted the way the moonlight caught the silver flecks in her eyes, the slight, residual tension in her jaw.
He didn’t know the full extent of her trauma, that she was a transmigrator, or a girl, or that she was carrying the crushing weight of a derailed plotline all by herself, not able to tell anyone.