Chapter 440: Sadist

Yan Xuanye blinked.

He looked closely at the other "servants" surrounding the Ice Demon. He recognized Gu Zhiwei, the icy-blue sword aura of Lu Jianheng.

The Blood Sovereign’s hyper-intelligent, tactical brain processed the situation in exactly three seconds.

’The Chef is not a rogue broker,’ Yan Xuanye realized, the pieces clicking into place. ’The Chef is commanding the Celestial Sword Sect’s Vanguard Retinue. And for some incomprehensible reason, the most powerful orthodox prodigies of this generation, including a Sovereign, are currently dressed like exotic dancers, preparing to commit a mass-casualty event in a brothel.’

Yan Xuanye was a sadist.

He loved violence. He loved blood.

But he was also a politician.

And he was currently deep undercover.

If he engaged in a bidding war, Xie Wangchen would undoubtedly recognize his demonic aura.

The Ice Demon was already in a state of yandere meltdown; if a Demon Lord tried to buy his Chef, Wangchen would initiate a continental war right here in the atrium. The orthodox sects would rally. The peace treaties would shatter, and the paperwork would be an absolute nightmare.

’It is not worth the administrative headache,’ Yan Xuanye sighed, a genuine sense of disappointment settling over him.

He had wanted the Chef.

He had wanted the entertainment. But he was not prepared to fight an enraged Ice Demon in a halter top today.

He turned away from the balcony, picking up his dark velvet cloak.

But he couldn’t leave without a parting word.

The Blood Sovereign possessed an ego that rivaled the heavens, and he refused to slink away into the night unannounced.

He channeled a thread of his demonic Qi, bypassing the brothel’s wards, and sent a direct, telepathic voice transmission straight into Lin Ji’an’s ear.

Down on the stage, Ji’an flinched as a deep, vibrating arrogant voice echoed in her mind.

"Your footwork has improved, little cook," Yan Xuanye’s voice purred telepathically, dripping with dark amusement and promise. "And the silver hair suits you far better than flour. I retract my bid for tonight. The orthodox lapdogs in the audience look like they are about to bite whoever they can find like a bunch of mad dogs. But do not think you have escaped me. Keep your ladles polished, Chef. I will come for my pork buns soon."

Ji’an’s eyes widened in horror.

She whipped her head up toward the balconies, but the VIP suite was already empty.

’Was that... Yan Lie?!’ Ji’an’s transmigrator soul screamed. ’The idiot disciple who used to steal my food?! He’s a demonic Lord! He’s here?! He saw me dance?!’

Before her brain could even fully process the terrifying revelation that her former kitchen nuisance was also a high-ranking villain, the universe decided that one overpowered stalker was simply not enough.

***

"FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND SPIRIT STONES!" a warlord yelled from the floor.

"SIX HUNDRED THOUSAND!" Madam Rouge cheered, her eyes flashing with greed. "Do I hear seven?!"

KRA-KOOM!

The reinforced blood-iron doors of the Grand Atrium did not open.

They were violently blown completely off their hinges by a shockwave of thermal pressure.

The two hundred-pound doors flew across the room, smashing into the serving bars, sending crystal glasses shattering into a million pieces.

The entire atrium fell dead silent.

The bidding ceased. The patrons turned around in absolute terror.

Stepping through the smoking, molten ruins of the entryway was a man draped in heavy, chaotic robes of midnight-purple silk.

His dark hair was tied back carelessly.

A long, slender smoking pipe rested lazily between his lips, though it was currently unlit.

It was Yan Zhaoge.

The Sovereign of the Iron-Stone Monastery.

The Overtime Boss.

He did not look angry. He just looked deeply annoyed.

He strolled casually into the cavernous atrium, his boots crunching over the shattered glass.

He completely ignored the thousands of terrified patrons, the furious demonic guards rushing toward him.

"The climate control in this establishment is a tragedy," Yan Zhaoge drawled lazily, his resonant, gravelly voice echoing effortlessly through the silent room. He waved a hand in front of his face, dismissing the heavy scent of perfume. "It smells like cheap incense and desperation. It is ruining my olfactory palate."

Madam Rouge, recovering from her shock, flared her Peak Nascent Soul aura.

"Who dares intrude upon the Crimson Lotus Pavilion?!" Madam Rouge shrieked, her spider-silk robes billowing. "Guards! Seize him! Drain his Yang!"

Fifty heavily armed, highly trained succubi guards lunged toward Yan Zhaoge, their curved scimitars humming with lethal Qi.

Yan Zhaoge didn’t even look at them.

He casually raised his right hand, snapping his fingers.

SNAP!

It wasn’t an explosion.

It was an instant rewrite of the room’s thermal physics.

A wave of invisible, staggering heat pulsed outward.

It didn’t burn the flesh of the guards. It specifically targeted the metal of their weapons and the foundation of the brothel’s arrays.

The fifty curved scimitars instantly glowed cherry-red, then white-hot, before completely melting into pools of liquid slag that splashed harmlessly onto the obsidian floor.

The heavy blood-iron bars of the VIP balconies warped and buckled.

More catastrophically, the Crimson Lotus Supreme Yin-Suppression Array, the massive magical matrix that powered the entire brothel and kept the captives subdued, groaned violently.

The thermal pulse overloaded the array’s central core, melting the foundational spirit stones into useless glass.

The pink light illuminating the canyon floor sputtered and died. The suppression field vanished.

Down in the servant aisles, Gu Zhiwei, Lu Jianheng, and Hu Yanlie instantly felt their overpowered Yang energy rush back into their meridians with explosive force.

Yan Zhaoge continued his casual stroll down the center aisle, stepping over a puddle of molten metal.

"I am not here for the auction," Yan Zhaoge announced, stopping right in front of the stage. He looked up at Ji’an, his dark eyes crinkling with obnoxious amusement as he took in her scandalous performance outfit.

He offered a slow, mocking bow.

"Your choreography was adequate, little Ji’an’er," Yan Zhaoge smirked. "Though your wardrobe is a severe violation of standard laboratory safety protocols. Silk is highly flammable."

Ji’an stared down at him.

The audacity of this man.

He had stalked her through the wasteland, forced her to accept a magical artifact, and now he had literally blown up half a demonic brothel just to critique her outfit.

"What do you want, Yan Zhaoge?" Ji’an hissed, dropping the young-master persona entirely, rubbing her temples. "I am in the middle of an undercover extraction operation. You are ruining my operational stealth."

"Your stealth team is wearing transparent halter tops and currently vibrating with homicidal intent in aisle four," Yan Zhaoge pointed out lazily, gesturing over his shoulder with his pipe. "I believe your cover was already blown."

He leaned his forearms against the edge of the stage, looking up at her with an expression of intense culinary demand.

"You successfully used the Phoenix Ember, I see," Yan Zhaoge stated, his eyes gleaming. "I felt the thermal fluctuation from three valleys away. You stabilized the fermentation array. The yeast has consumed the toxins."

He held out his hand, palm up.

"I have surrendered my tobacco, Chef," the Overtime Boss declared, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "My palate is cleansed. My patience is non-existent. I want the plum wine, now."

Ji’an’s jaw dropped.

"You blew up the front doors of a brother and melted down fifty weapons... you destroyed a millennium-old suppression array... because you wanted a glass of wine?!" Ji’an shrieked, her voice cracking.

"I wanted your wine," Yan Zhaoge corrected smoothly, utterly unrepentant. "And I am parched. Hand it over, or I will melt the load-bearing pillars of this atrium and we can conduct this performance review in the rubble."

The entire audience watched in paralyzed silence as the terrifying, purple-robed intruder casually threatened to collapse a cavern over a beverage.

Su Liuyun, the Top Courtesan, who was still standing on the stage, tried to intervene.

His professional pride refused to be sidelined.

"You lack manners, stranger," Liuyun purred, stepping between Ji’an and Zhaoge, deploying his foxy, brain-melting smile. He let his heavy amethyst robe slip slightly off his shoulder. "If you are thirsty, the Crimson Lotus Pavilion offers vintages that would make a god weep. Allow me to pour you a cup, and perhaps we can discuss—"

Yan Zhaoge didn’t even let him finish the sentence.

Without breaking eye contact with Ji’an, Yan Zhaoge casually swatted his hand through the air, as if dismissing a particularly annoying gnat.