The reception was officially over.
Ji’an had practically been vibrating with the desire to sprint back to her kitchen, lock the doors, and begin stress-baking an entire gross of red bean buns to cope with the fact that the Sect Leader’s daughter was actively trying to force her into a royal sa-sex marriage!
She had made it exactly three steps toward the exit before the collar of her formal white robes was snagged by an inescapable, calloused hand.
"Not so fast, you slippery little eel!" Master Jiu Zui’s gravelly voice rumbled behind her. "Only the disciples are dismissed. The Sovereign Elders are not. We have an executive summit."
"Master, please," Ji’an had pleaded, going entirely limp and forcing the immortal to physically drag her backward across the starlight-glass floor. "I am a child. It is past my bedti. I need my beauty sleep, or my pores will clog with the ambient toxicity of sect politics."
"You are a Third Generation Martial Uncle, and you will sit in the designated old-people room and drink your tea like a respectable mber of managent," Jiu Zui countered ruthlessly, hauling her toward the restricted, heavily warded executive chambers at the rear of the Grand Hall.
Which was how Lin Ji’an found herself trapped in what was essentially the Xianxia equivalent of a late-night corporate board eting, surrounded by the most terrifying, ancient, and unfathomably powerful individuals in the Azure Empire.
The Executive Sanctum was a circular chamber carved entirely from a single, massive piece of hollowed-out Spirit-Jade.
A massive, round table of dark obsidian dominated the center of the room, surrounded by plush, silk-upholstered chairs.
As Ji’an slumped into a chair next to Jiu Zui, desperately trying to make herself look as small and inconspicuous as possible, she took a mont to survey the "stinking old n and ladies" of the Sect’s upper managent.
Her brain imdiately suffered a deeply irritating sense of aesthetic dissonance.
In her past life on Earth, a board of directors consisted of balding n with stress-induced ulcers, terrible posture, and graying comb-overs.
Here, however, the concept of aging was rely a polite suggestion that cultivators entirely ignored.
Sitting around the table were individuals who were, chronologically, anywhere from four hundred to nine hundred years old.
Yet, every single one of them looked like they had just stepped off the runway of a high-fashion immortal magazine.
To her left sat Elder Hua of the Spirit-Beast Peak, a woman who had theoretically seen the rise and fall of three mortal dynasties, yet possessed the flawless, dewy skin of a twenty-year-old supermodel and flowing hair the color of cherry blossoms.
To her right was Elder Tie of the Forge Peak, a man older than dirt, who looked like a spectacularly shredded, thirty-sothing lumberjack with a perfectly grood, majestic beard.
’It’s infuriating,’ Ji’an’s internal monologue complained bitterly, peeling a roasted spirit-peanut from the small snack bowl in front of her. ’They are a bunch of old people who should have wrinkles, they should be complaining about their joints and asking to show them how to use a transmission talisman. Instead, I am sitting in a room full of ageless, blindingly attractive peacocks! What kind of moisturizer does immortality provide, and can I bottle it for the mortal market?!’
Ji’an was jealous and envied those old aunties, especially when she looked at their ample chests and buttocks, but her internal complaining abruptly derailed when her eyes t the gaze of the elder sitting directly across the obsidian table.
Elder Qin Changxu.
The Sovereign of the Heartless Dao Peak, and Xie Wangchen’s master, was sitting rigidly in his chair, his posture so perfect it looked painful.
His flawless silver hair caught the ambient light of the jade room.
He was holding a delicate porcelain wine cup between his long, elegant fingers.
And he was glaring at Lin Ji’an with an intensity that could have lted a glacier.
It wasn’t a subtle look.
It was a heavy, suffocating, and dark scowl.
His jaw was clenched so tightly that a muscle ticked visibly in his cheek.
Ji’an nervously swallowed the peanut she was chewing, shrinking slightly behind Master Jiu Zui’s broad shoulder.
’Wow, I can see clearly just how much he hates ,’ Ji’an deduced, entirely misinterpreting the immortal’s expression. ’Bah! He is such a staunch traditionalist. He sees a sixteen-year-old cook sitting at the executive table, and he is offended by my lack of seniority? Does he think I am a nepotism hire? He probably also hates the fact that his perfect, icy prodigy disciple spends all his free ti hanging out in my kitchen instead of ditating!’
She offered Elder Qin a polite, apologetic little wave.
Across the table, Elder Qin’s breath hitched.
His eyes widened a fraction of a milliter.
The porcelain wine cup in his hand let out a sharp, ominous CRACK, a hairline fracture appearing down its side.
He abruptly averted his gaze, staring fixedly at the center of the table, a faint, entirely inappropriate flush creeping up the back of his pristine neck.
’Yep, definitely hates ,’ Ji’an nodded to herself, safely tucking her hands back into her lap.
She had absolutely no idea that the ancient, supposedly emotionless immortal was currently fighting a horrific, sanity-shredding internal battle.
He wasn’t glaring at her because she was a cook.
He was glaring at her because the mont she had waved, his traitorous, compromised mind had instantly flashed back to the steam of the bathhouse, the feeling of her small, wet hands on his chest, and the terrifying, consuming heat of her energy.
He was scowling because he wanted to rip her gray traveling cloak off and lock her in his ditation chamber, and the depravity of his own thoughts was actively causing his cultivation base to destabilize.
Fortunately for Elder Qin’s sanity, the heavy, double brass doors of the sanctum opened, and Sect Leader Bai Yunfei glided into the room.
The atmosphere instantly shifted.
The ambient bickering and quiet chatter ceased.
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