Ji'an cheered, walking alongside the Chief Forgemaster, already deep in conversation about the optimal internal temperature for slow-roasting root vegetables in volcanic ash.
But as the retinue watched their beautiful, silver-haired idol walk away, abandoning them to the soot and the sweat, one figure refused to accept the delegation.
Xie Wangchen stepped to the edge of the yacht.
The Ice Demon was not going to a forge.
The Ice Demon was not going to train with junior disciples who smelled of sulfur and sweat.
Where the Chef went, the Ice Demon followed.
It was a fundamental law of his universe.
He took a step off the leaf, his pristine white robes untouched by the ash falling around them.
Before his boot could touch the basalt pad, a blur of midnight-purple silk materialized directly in his path.
Yan Zhaoge stood between Wangchen and the retreating form of Lin Ji'an.
