While the boys engaged in a frantic, blushing, and awkward wardrobe change in the back of the yacht, Ji'an let out a long, exhausted sigh.
She leaned against the woven railing, her silver hair whipping around her face, trying to lower her blood pressure.
But as she looked toward the rear of the vessel, her Qi-sense picked up a spike of depression.
Xie Wangchen was not changing his clothes.
The Ice Demon was standing completely still, his silver-threaded belly-dancer halter top was encased in a thick layer of solid black ice.
He was not looking at his luggage, but was staring directly at Yan Zhaoge.
Wangchen's ruby eyes were dilated, burning with a dark fury.
The Sovereign of the Iron-Stove Monastery had hijacked Ji'an's chair, drank her wine, eaten her pastry. And now, he was sitting beside her, breathing her air, looking too comfortable.
