Yan Zhaoge let out a low, rich, booming laugh that vibrated against the walls of the purple dome.
He finished the pastry in three bites, licking a stray dab of lotus cream from his thumb with shameless, aristocratic grace.
"You are wasted on that drunkard Jiu Zui," Yan Zhaoge declared, setting the empty plate aside. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking down at her sitting on the floor. "He does not appreciate the architectural brilliance of your mind. He just likes the alcohol and that gourd of his, as if he is married to them."
"Master Jiu Zui gave me a mountain and told me to do whatever I want," Ji'an defended her master, crossing her arms. "He doesn't manage or control my kitchen and gives me freedom to do as I wish. That's more than I can say for you, Mr. 'Your-Thermal-Distribution-Is-Flawed'."
