Before Ji’an could even attempt to formulate a diplomatic deflection, Elder Qin Changxu stood up.
The Sovereign of the Heartless Dao Peak planted his hands on the table, his silver hair cascading over his shoulders, his jaw tight.
He did not look at Ji’an; he glared directly at Jiu Zui.
"This is inappropriate, even as a Supre Elder," Elder Qin snapped, his voice a freezing, echoing reprimand. "Your apprentice is a participant in the Official Sect Martial Ranking! To allow a competitor to design the traps and dictate the difficulty of the very tournant he is fighting in is a flagrant conflict of interest! It completely compromises the integrity of the trials!"
It was a perfectly valid, logical, orthodox argunt.
But Jiu Zui was not a logical, orthodox man.
The Sovereign of the Drunken Peak let out a loud, barking laugh, leaning back in his chair and propping his booted feet right onto the polished obsidian table, much to the horror of the other elders.
"Integrity? Don’t make laugh, Qin brat," Jiu Zui scoffed, waving his wine gourd dismissively. "Ji’an is only participating out of bureaucratic formality because he holds an Inner Sect dallion. He’s just a cook. He’s going to go in there, find a quiet cave, and boil water for three days. He doesn’t care about your petty little ranking board!"
’Wow! Master sure knows well! Go, go, Master! Flatten that arrogant old man right under!’ Ji’an wanted to give a thumbs up for Jiu Zui’s sassiness, but barely held herself back.
Jiu Zui then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, leveling a mocking, razor-sharp grin directly at his rival peak lord.
"Besides, Changxu," Jiu Zui drawled, his voice dripping with condescending irony. "You should be begging my apprentice to design the traps. Considering your precious, flawless little ice cube, Wangchen, follows my boy around like a lost, freezing duckling... any advantage Ji’an creates for himself is an advantage for your prized disciple. Are you truly so slow in the head that you would object to your own peak’s benefit just to spite ?"
The room collectively sucked in a breath.
It was a flawless, devastatingly accurate roast.
It weaponized Wangchen’s blatant, highly visible obsession with Ji’an against his own master.
Elder Qin Changxu’s face went blank.
The veins in his neck bulged against his pristine silver collar.
He looked at Jiu Zui.
Then he looked at Ji’an.
The suppressed mories of the hot spring, combined with the public mockery of his disciple’s devotion, created a catastrophic pressure differential in his mind.
CRACK!!!
The fractured porcelain wine cup in Elder Qin’s hand completely detonated, exploding into a cloud of fine white dust and spraying premium wine across his impeccable robes.
"I..." Elder Qin forced out through gritted teeth, his chest heaving, incapable of formulating a counter-argunt without exposing his own compromised sanity. He slowly, chanically sat back down, wiping the wine from his robes with trembling fingers. "Very well! I withdraw my objection!"
Ji’an stared at her Master in absolute awe.
’This man is such a nace,’ she thought, a renewed sense of profound filial respect blooming in her chest. ’He just verbally obliterated an immortal Sovereign using a duckling taphor. I will never disrespect his alcoholic aura again.’
Sect Leader Bai Yunfei watched the exchange with a serene, amused smile.
He smoothly stepped into the silence left by Elder Qin’s defeat.
"A Master knows his disciple best," Bai Yunfei concurred, his dark eyes shifting to Ji’an, pinning her in place with gentle, inescapable authority.
"Martial Uncle Lin," the Sect Leader addressed her, his tone encouraging but expectant. "The floor is yours. Since the elders are divided, and we have foreign delegations arriving tomorrow, who will scrutinize our every move? If we are to change the difficulty and style of the tournant, we need a paradigm shift. Do you have ideas to convince this table, and do you have any plans for the Shattered Realm?"
Ji’an slowly stood up.
She wiped the peanut dust from her hands onto her gray apron.
She looked around the obsidian table.
She looked at the conservative elders who were glaring at her with skeptical, traditionalist disdain.
She looked at Elder Qin, who was refusing to make eye contact with her.
And then, her transmigrator, corporate-survival instincts took the wheel.
’You want to convince a board of directors?’ Ji’an thought, an arrogant, highly polished, incredibly sly smile spreading across her face. ’You don’t have to necessarily argue with them. You just need to make them understand that they don’t matter, and flatter the CEO.’
"Greetings to all the elders and sovereigns," Ji’an began, pacing slowly behind her chair, her voice projecting with the clear, confident resonance of a seasoned orator.
"Your concerns regarding the foreign delegations are entirely valid. We do not wish to appear deceitful, and certainly, we don’t wish to breach the fragile diplomatic truce of the borderlands."
The conservative elders nodded, slightly mollified by her respectful opening.
"However," Ji’an continued, her tone dropping into a smooth, sharp edge, "validity does not equate to supremacy."
She stopped pacing, turning to look directly at the dissenting elders.
"You worry about what the Crimson Blade Sect, Azure Lotus Pavilion would think. You worry about the optics of changing the rules. But I must ask..."
Ji’an gestured broadly toward the head of the table.
"...since when does the Celestial Sword Sect, the undisputed hegemon of the Northern Territories, ask permission from its guests to rearrange the furniture in its own house?"
A few of the progressive elders let out low murmurs of approval.
"We are the vanguard. We set the standard," Ji’an pressed, her voice rising in volu and intensity. "If we cater to their comfort, we are just showing our weakness. If we alter the realm to be a crucible of unprecedented chaos, we do not show deceit; we show that our foundation is so unshakeable, so terrifyingly profound, that our disciples can adapt to the end of the world without breaking a sweat."
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