Ji’an reached into her spatial ring and pulled out a small, empty crystal vial, tossing it up and catching it with a spark of excitement.
"I have decided that the Azure Dragon Sect’s hospitality is lacking, and their brewing standards are an insult to the Dao of Fermentation," Ji’an declared, her silver-flecked eyes glowing with tyrannical, culinary intent. "We are going to hijack their agricultural sector."
Wangchen stared at her, utterly bewildered but enraptured by her sudden enthusiasm. "Hijack their agriculture?"
"I’m going to brew wine, Wangchen," Ji’an grinned, tapping the crystal vial against his chest. "I’m going to make the most exquisite, dangerously potent, perfectly balanced vintage this continent has ever seen. I’m going to make a batch for Master Jiu Zui, and I’m going to send a crate to my father in the capital."
She began pacing the balcony, her hands flying as she laid out the blueprint of her scheme.
"The miasma here infuses the local flora with incredible depth, but they process it like butchers! If I can requisition their highest-tier Venom-Grapes and Nightshade-Plums, I can set up a rogue fermentation array in the pavilion basement. But fermentation requires absolute, perfect temperature control to ensure the yeast doesn’t die and the sugars convert properly without turning to vinegar."
Ji’an stopped pacing, pointing her finger directly at the Ice Demon.
"You are my new, state-of-the-art, immortal refrigeration unit. I need you to act as the climate control for my barrels. Are you in, or are you too aristocratic to help me run a bootleg winery in a hostile sect?"
Xie Wangchen looked at the beautiful, manic, incredibly passionate Chef standing before him.
Five minutes ago, he had been offering to murder the entire sect to make her smile. Now, she was offering him the opportunity to stand in a dark basement for hours on end, acting as a magical air-conditioner for a bunch of rotting grapes, just so she could make a present for her alcoholic master.
To any other Sovereign, it would have been a humiliating, deeply degrading request.
To Xie Wangchen, it was the greatest, most romantic proposal he had ever received.
"I am entirely at your disposal, Chef," Wangchen smiled, an utterly devoted light in his ruby eyes. He offered a crisp, flawless bow. "My ice shall serve as the cradle for your vintage. Tell me the target temperature, and I shall hold it until the stars fall."
"Excellent," Ji’an beamed, clapping her hands together, her sour mood obliterated. "Tomorrow morning, while the others are doing their combat drills in the acid pits, you and I are going grocery shopping. We are going to raid the Elder’s private conservatory."
As Ji’an practically skipped back into the Azure Zenith Pavilion, her mind buzzing with recipes for neutralizing toxic tannins, Xie Wangchen stood on the balcony alone.
He looked down at his right hand, where the phantom warmth of her fingers still lingered against his skin.
He didn’t care about the wine. He didn’t care about the Azure Dragon Sect. He didn’t care that he was being utilized as a household appliance.
’He leaned on me,’ Wangchen thought, a soft, breathless laugh escaping his lips into the cold night air. ’He stayed and smiled.’
The Ice Demon turned and followed his Chef inside, his heart lighter than it had been in time that felt like centuries. The Vanguard Tour might be a chaotic, dangerous, politically fraught nightmare, but as long as he was the one keeping her barrels cold, Xie Wangchen was exactly where he belonged.
***
The morning sun over the Azure Dragon Sect did not rise with the crisp, golden clarity of the Celestial Sword Peak. It bled through the thick, swirling canopy of the toxic miasma valleys like a bruised, sickly green yolk, casting long, eerie, luminescent shadows across the polished obsidian courtyards.
Inside the sprawling luxury of the Azure Zenith Pavilion, Lin Ji’an was standing over a petrified-wood barrel in the deepest corner of the cellar, mumbling and measuring the pH levels of crushed Nightshade-Plums.
"Wangchen, drop the temperature by another one-point-five degrees," Ji’an muttered, her sleeves rolled up, her white apron stained with purple juice. "The yeast strain is getting too active. If it consumes the sugars too fast, we’ll end up with toxic balsamic vinegar instead of vintage wine."
Standing obediently in the corner of the cellar, his arms crossed over his pristine white robes, Xie Wangchen closed his ruby eyes. He didn’t ask questions.
He didn’t complain that he was being used as a high-end magical refrigerator. The Ice Demon simply exhaled a faint, glittering mist, perfectly dropping the cellar’s temperature to the exact decimal she requested.
"The climate is stabilized, Chef," Wangchen murmured softly, his voice a low, melodic purr that vibrated against the stone walls. "Your vintage shall ferment in hibernation."
"Good," Ji’an sighed, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist.
She looked at the bubbling, dark purple liquid in the barrel. The bootleg winery operation was going beautifully.
It was her sanctuary. It was her peace.
Down here in the cellar, there were no rival sects, no arrogant peacocks, and no plotlines to derail. There was only the beautiful, predictable, controllable science of culinary fermentation.
She wanted nothing more than to spend the entire day down here, stirring the mash and letting the world burn without her.
Unfortunately, the universe, and her official administrative title absolutely refused to allow her a day off.
A loud, frantic, echoing crash resonated from the floorboards directly above her head, followed immediately by the sound of breaking porcelain and a very loud, panicked golden retriever.
"Jianheng, put the sword down! It was just a centipede! It crawled out of the drain! You don’t need to use the Moon Severing teqnique on the indoor plumbing!" Gu Zhiwei’s voice muffled through the ceiling.
"The structure of this guest house is compromised by vermin! Stand aside, Holy Son, I am purifying the latrine!" Lu Jianheng roared back.
Ji’an slowly, tightly closed her eyes. She gripped the edge of the petrified-wood barrel so hard the wood groaned.
"I am a Tour Leader," Ji’an whispered to herself, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I am a responsible chaperone. I am not going to drown the Sword Lord in a vat of toxic wine. I am going to be a professional."
She turned away from the barrels, untying her stained apron and throwing it over a stool.
"Hold the temperature, Wangchen," Ji’an commanded, her voice dropping back into its smooth baritone as she adjusted the heavy buckles of her Szechuan Red combat corset-belt. "I have to go take my herd of homicidal toddlers to school."
Wangchen offered a bow, though his ruby eyes glinted with dark amusement. "I shall guard the cellar with my life. Give the oxen my regards."
Ten minutes later, the fifteen elite disciples of the Vanguard Retinue were marched out of the Azure Zenith Pavilion and into the humid, toxic morning air.
They did not look like a proud diplomatic envoy.
Thanks to Ji’an’s brutal physical bootcamp the day prior, the prodigies were currently experiencing the mother of all Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness.
Hu Yanlie, the massive Beast Lord, was walking with a stiff, slow waddle, his thighs burning with every step. Wen Shiru was leaning so heavily on his jade cane that the wood was bending. Even the three Azure Crane maidens were moving with the rigid, jerky motions of poorly oiled automatons.
"Pick up the pace, freeloaders!" Ji’an barked, casually twirling her heavy Black Iron Spatula as she walked backward at the head of the formation, immune to muscle fatigue due to her Harmonious Five-Grain Qi. "This is a study tour! We are here to absorb the institutional knowledge of our hosts! You will sit up straight, take notes, and not embarrass me in front of the poison nerds!"
"Martial Uncle Lin," Lu Jianheng wheezed, his face pale as he clutched his ribs. "Is it truly necessary for us to attend the academic seminars? We are combatants. Our Dao is forged in the crucible of battle, not in the dusty halls of academia."
"Your Dao is currently forged out of poor, fragile glass, Jianheng," Ji’an shot back ruthlessly. "You know how to swing a sharp piece of metal. Congratulations. Do you know how to identify a paralytic neurotoxin simply by observing the oxidation rate of the ambient air? No. You don’t. You’d drink poisoned tea because it came in a pretty cup."