He simply knew that the person who anchored his entire universe was currently hurting, and he wanted to obliterate whatever was causing it.
"The disciples here were so insolent," Wangchen stated, his tone dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "Their flagon was an insult to your prestige. If you wish it, Brother Ji’an... I can return to the Grand Hall and freeze their meridians so slowly they will feel every crystal form. I can turn their entire sect into a monument of black ice. What do you say, doesn’t it sound nice?"
It was too much of a romantic offer of continental genocide, the best thing Wangchen could come up with. He said it with the same calm, devoted tone a mortal man might use to offer to fetch a glass of water.
Ji’an turned her head, looking at him.
She saw the sincerity in his ruby eyes. He meant every word of it.
He would literally go to war with one of the most powerful sects in the empire right now, simply because she had a sour look on her face.
A few days ago, the intensity of his devotion would have terrified her.
Tonight?
Tonight, it was weirdly comforting.
"Stand down, Little Puddle," Ji’an smiled softly, reaching out to lightly, affectionately tap the back of his pale hand where it gripped the railing. "No genocide is taking place tonight. I already handled those try-hards. Kicking that iron cup into the stratosphere was plenty cathartic."
Wangchen looked down at where her fingers had brushed his hand.
The touch was fleeting, but the warmth lingered, seeping directly through his skin and melting the frost around his heart.
He turned his hand over, his long fingers gently, deliberately capturing hers before she could pull away.
He didn’t grip tightly. It was a soft, loose hold, an offer rather than a demand.
"You are strong, Brother Ji’an," Wangchen whispered, his ruby eyes stripped of their arrogance, leaving only raw vulnerability of it all. "You are the Vanguard, the Apex Anomaly. You carry the weight of their training, their survival, and their foolish egos upon your shoulders."
He stepped a fraction of an inch closer, his thumb lightly tracing the callouses on the knuckles of her right hand, the hands that chopped, seared, and commanded the battlefield.
"But the wok is heavy," Wangchen murmured softly, quoting the culinary metaphors she loved so much. "Even the greatest Chef cannot hold the iron over the fire forever without resting her arm. You do not have to carry it all by yourself, Brother Ji’an. Let me be the counterweight. I’m saying that, you can lean on me. When the world is loud, let me be the silence."
Ji’an stood entirely frozen.
The heavy iron box in her mind, the box where she had shoved her sadness, her loneliness, her fear, rattled violently against its hinges.
Wangchen didn’t know the truth about her. He thought she was a male prodigy, that she was just stressed from the tournament. But his words, the pure, unconditional offer of support, the willingness to share her burden regardless of the cost, pierced straight through her heart.
She looked at his flawless, aristocratic face, the silver hair blowing in the toxic wind. She looked at the man who had caught a legendary sword with two fingers just to ensure she had time to make a stir-fry.
’He is insane,’ Ji’an’s heart hammered a frantic, beautiful rhythm against her chest. ’He is a walking red flag wrapped in pristine white silk. But he is... he is my red flag.’
For the first time since she had transmigrated into this brutal, unforgiving world, Ji’an didn’t pull away. She didn’t use a sarcastic joke to deflect the intimacy or didn’t hide behind her young-master swagger.
She let out a long, shuddering sigh, the tension finally leaving her shoulders.
She took a half-step sideways, closing the gap, and let her shoulder bump against his arm. She didn’t fully collapse against him, but she leaned her weight into him, accepting the physical and emotional support he was offering.
Wangchen almost stopped breathing.
The Ice Demon stood still, his entire existence focused on the feeling of her shoulder pressing against his arm. His ruby eyes widened in euphoria. Ji’an hadn’t pushed him away, but leaned in and accepted his sanctuary.
"You are a terrible influence, Wangchen," Ji’an murmured softly, looking back out over the glowing waterfalls, her hand still resting warmly in his. "If you keep offering to commit arson every time I’m in a bad mood, I’m going to develop a god complex."
"You are already divine," Wangchen replied without a second of hesitation, his voice thick with devotion.
They stood there in the quiet, chilled air for a long, peaceful moment. The horrors of the Azure Dragon Sect felt thousands of miles away, completely blocked out by the protective aura of the person standing beside her.
Eventually, the pragmatic gears in Ji’an’s brain began to turn again. The emotional vulnerability had settled her soul, but the plot required action.
"Wangchen," Ji’an said, her voice regaining its crisp, authoritative tone, though she didn’t pull her shoulder away.
"Yes, my Ji’an?"
"How good is your temperature control?" Ji’an asked, tilting her head to look at him. "I know you can flash-freeze a Rank 7 bear, but can you maintain a specific, sustained climate? Say, maintaining an exact temperature of sixty-four degrees Fahrenheit for an extended period of time?"
Wangchen blinked, slightly thrown off by the sudden shift from romantic tension to atmospheric thermodynamics.
"My control over the Flawless Ice is absolute," Wangchen confirmed, his brow furrowing slightly. "I can maintain any temperature you require down to the decimal. Why do you ask? Are we preserving more meat for the team?"
Ji’an pulled her hand from his, completely reinvigorated and back to her spirited self. She turned to fully face him, a brilliant and devious smirk spreading across her face.
"No, Little Puddle. This time, we are not preserving meat, but doing more than that."