She paused, her knife hovering over the cutting board, a sudden flush of heat creeping up her neck as she rembered the ruby-eyed immortal holding her on the balcony, promising to slaughter the world for her.
"Wangchen is an overprotective, possessive anomaly who currently looks like a literal god," Ji’an corrected herself, aggressively shaking her head to clear the ntal image. "If Shiru looks at the wrong way, Wangchen is going to shatter his spine and freeze his golden core. I have to keep them distracted and incapacitate their nervous systems."
A dark, ruthless, and entirely unhinged grin spread across Ji’an’s face.
She turned away from the chopping block and walked toward her deepest, most heavily warded storage cabinet.
If she wanted to distract three immortal prodigies, she couldn’t just serve them a standard al.
She had to attack their ridians.
She had to wage a biological war on their pain receptors.
She pulled out three tightly sealed, lead-lined jade jars.
Inside the first jar was a cluster of Ghost-Peppers, harvested from the edges of the demonic rifts.
Inside the second was a pulverized powder of Demon-Horn Chilis, a spice so potent it was usually reserved for interrogating spies.
And inside the third was a viscous, glowing red paste made from the venom sacs of the Swamp-Mantes she had hunted with Wangchen.
"We are having an Inferno Hotpot," Ji’an announced to the Nekomata, cracking her knuckles. "I am going to spice this broth until their tear ducts hemorrhage. They cannot plot, murder, or flirt if they are actively fighting for their lives against capsaicin."
«You are utilizing warfare against your own guests,» the kitten projected, its tails swishing with mild amusent. «I approve. Though I expect a separate, un-poisoned salmon dish for myself.»
"You’ll get your salmon, fluffball," Ji’an promised, setting to work.
She placed a massive, divided brass cauldron over a roaring spirit-coal fire.
Into the right side, she poured a mild, soothing mushroom and bone broth for herself.
On the left side, she unleashed hell.
She dumped the Ghost-Peppers, the Demon-Horn powder, and the venom-paste into the boiling water, adding a terrifying amount of Szechuan peppercorns, garlic, and highly volatile Yang-heavy herbs.
The mont the ingredients hit the boiling water, the broth turned a violent, bubbling shade of radioactive crimson.
A thick, oppressive cloud of spicy steam rose into the air, so potent that the ambient insects in the courtyard instantly dropped dead from the fus.
"Perfect," Ji’an coughed, tying a cloth over her nose and mouth to avoid accidentally inhaling the weaponized steam.
As the hotpot bubbled, Ji’an moved to a smaller, secondary fire pit.
She had brought back an imnse haul from the Eastern Coastal Wastes, including several massive, jagged bones from a fallen Rank 7 Drake.
The bones radiated a terrifying, ancient Yang energy.
She had decided to brew a specialized, hyper-concentrated stock, the Dragon-Bone Vitality Broth.
It was not ant for human consumption.
The Yang energy was too dense and primal.
It was an elixir designed specifically to rapidly heal injured spirit beasts or to be diluted a thousand tis for alchemy.
Consud raw by a human, it would act as an overwhelming aphrodisiac, supercharging the blood, elevating the body temperature, and violently flooding the mind with raw, feral lust.
She threw the dragon bones, a handful of Sun-Flare ginseng, and a crushed Blood-Lotus stan into a dark ceramic pot, covering it with a heavy lid, intending to feed it to the Nekomata later to boost its already ridiculous stats.
She pushed the ceramic pot to the far corner of the kitchen counter to simr safely out of the way.
"Brother Lin!"
The loud, booming, infinitely cheerful voice shattered the quiet evening atmosphere of the Drunken Peak.
Ji’an pulled the cloth off her mouth, turning around just in ti to brace herself.
Gu Zhiwei ca bounding through the bamboo gate, radiating sunshine and absolute, unfiltered joy.
He was wearing casual, loose-fitting golden robes, his hair tied up, looking like a ridiculously handso, overly energetic puppy.
"I brought the dipping sauces you asked for!" Zhiwei bead, holding up a basket of various soy and sesa blends. He took a deep breath of the courtyard air and imdiately fell into a violent, racking coughing fit. "By the Heavens! Brother Lin, what are you cooking?! My eyes are watering from ten feet away!"
"It’s an advanced culinary technique, Zhiwei," Ji’an lied flawlessly, taking the basket from him. "The intense heat purges the impurities from the ridians. It is excellent training for tomorrow’s tournant. Where is your shadow?"
"Shiru is right behind ," Zhiwei smiled, wiping his watering eyes. "His foot is still troubling him, so he’s walking slowly."
Right on cue, Wen Shiru stepped through the bamboo gate.
The rchant heir looked immaculate.
He wore deep, rich erald green silk, his silver spectacles gleaming in the twilight.
He leaned heavily on an elegant, jade-carved cane, favoring his left foot, the foot Ji’an had ruthlessly pulverized in the library.
Despite his injury, his posture was perfect.
But as his jade-colored eyes landed on Ji’an, that dark, twisted smile spread across his lips.
"Good evening, Martial Uncle," Shiru murmured, his voice smooth as silk, carrying a heavy, loaded undertone. "I must thank you for hosting us. And... for the physical therapy lesson earlier today. It was illuminating."
Ji’an’s eye twitched. ’This freaking psycho! I broke his foot, and he is acting as if I gave him a massage.’
"Have a seat, Shiru," Ji’an commanded flatly, pointing her spatula toward a large, round wooden table set up near the hotpot cauldron. "Keep your cane out of the walkway, or I will use it for firewood."
"Your hospitality is as fiery as your cooking, Martial Uncle Ji’an," Shiru chuckled, limping over to the table and taking a seat, deliberately choosing the cushion that would afford him the best view of her working.
Zhiwei happily bounced over to sit beside Shiru, entirely oblivious to the thick, toxic tension radiating from the rchant.
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