Chapter 442: Acknowledgement

"You don’t burn; you just explode from the inside out in a glorious shower of red mist and steam! It is highly efficient and incredibly difficult to clean up!"

Ji’an stared at him.

’He is smiling,’ her soul whispered, terrified.

’He is literally beaming with pride while describing a microwave-laser security system that boils people alive. He is a psychopath. I have signed a snack-contract with a walking war crime.’

"It would be a tragedy," Yan Zhaoge sighed dramatically, shaking his head, "if you were to accidentally step on the wrong grain of sand and vaporize before you could deliver my next batch of plum wine. I am simply protecting my investment."

Ji’an rubbed her temples. "Fine. Fine! You can ride with us. But you are not allowed to talk to my retinue. If you traumatize them any further today, they are going to unionize, and I don’t have the paperwork for that."

***

Ji’an pulled her woven fan from her ring, infusing it with her Body Fusion Qi.

The fan detonated with spatial expansion magic, expanding into the colossal, twelve-foot-wide hovering palm-leaf yacht.

"All aboard, you miserable peacocks!" Ji’an barked to the exhausted boys behind her. "Get to the back of the leaf! Do not touch anything! Do not speak! Just sit down and meditate!"

The Vanguard Retinue eagerly scrambled onto the back of the massive frond, deeply relieved to finally be escaping the demonic brothel.

Ji’an hopped onto the front of the leaf, moving toward her designated, comfortable bamboo lounging chair positioned directly at the helm.

Before she could even sit down, a blur of midnight-purple silk bypassed her completely.

Yan Zhaoge smoothly, effortlessly dropped into her bamboo chair. He stretched his long legs out, crossing them at the ankles, and leaned back, letting out a contented sigh.

"Excellent suspension," the Sovereign noted lazily, patting the bamboo armrests. "Though the aerodynamics are a complete joke. You are basically flying a parachute."

Ji’an stood over him, her silver-flecked eyes twitching with murderous rage.

"That is my chair," Ji’an stated, her voice dropping to absolute zero.

"I am the guest of honor, little intern," Yan Zhaoge smirked, not moving an inch. He patted the small, empty space on the woven frond directly beside the chair. "You may sit on the floor. It helps pne to build their character."

Ji’an looked at her heavy cast-iron spatula.

She looked at the Sovereign’s smug face.

She rapidly calculated the odds of successfully bludgeoning a deity to death and decided it wasn’t worth the stamina drain.

With a heavy, disgruntled groan, Ji’an dropped onto the woven floor of the palm leaf, sitting cross-legged directly beside his chair.

In the back of the yacht, the male protagonists had just processed the fact that an incredibly handsome, overpowered, purple-robed stranger had hijacked their Vanguard Leader’s personal space.

"WHO IS THAT?!" Gu Zhiwei shrieked, his golden aura flaring as he scrambled to his feet. "WHY IS HE SITTING IN BROTHER LIN’S CHAIR?! UNHAND THE SEATING ARRANGEMENT, YOU RUFFIAN!"

Lu Jianheng drew Autumn Frost, his face pale with aristocratic outrage. "He invades the Vanguard Leader’s personal proximity! This is a breach of diplomatic etiquette! I shall sever his insolence!"

Xie Wangchen didn’t speak.

The Ice Demon simply raised his hand, gathering a massive, condensed spear of black ice, preparing to launch a tactical strike directly at the back of Yan Zhaoge’s head.

Yan Zhaoge didn’t even turn around.

He casually raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.

FWOOSH.

A shimmering, impenetrable dome of heavy purple energy erupted from the floorboards, completely enclosing the front quarter of the palm leaf.

It separated Ji’an and Yan Zhaoge from the rest of the Vanguard Retinue.

The barrier was perfectly transparent, but it was unequivocally soundproof and kinetic-proof.

CLANG!

Lu Jianheng’s sword struck the barrier and bounced off harmlessly.

Gu Zhiwei slammed his fists against the purple energy, screaming words that Ji’an couldn’t hear. Xie Wangchen’s black ice spear shattered against the dome, doing absolutely zero damage.

"What did you just do?" Ji’an asked, looking back at the frantic, pantomiming boys trapped outside the bubble.

"I engaged the privacy settings," Yan Zhaoge replied lazily, resting his chin on his hand. "Your retinue is incredibly loud. I detest noise when I am dining. Now..."

He leaned forward, his dark eyes locking onto hers with sudden, intense, uncompromising culinary demand.

"...I was promised snacks."

***

Ji’an stared at the Overtime Boss.

He had essentially locked her in a soundproof bubble, thousands of feet in the air, solely to extort baked goods from her.

"You literally just drank an entire jug of vintage, miasma-neutralized plum wine," Ji’an deadpanned. "Your caloric intake is already pushing the limits of immortal metabolism."

"Wine is a beverage, Chef. It does not fulfill the textural requirements of a proper meal," Yan Zhaoge countered smoothly, tapping a long, elegant finger against the armrest. "I surrendered my tobacco for you. My palate is screaming for complex carbohydrates. Do not breach the contract on day one."

Ji’an gritted her teeth.

She could fight him. She could argue.

But looking at his smug, unyielding face, she knew it was a battle of attrition she would ultimately lose.

"Fine," Ji’an snapped, reaching into her spatial ring. "But you’re getting what I have prepped. I am not running a made-to-order line in the middle of the sky."

She rummaged through her high-stasis storage compartments.

Because she was a transmigrator who utilized modern culinary science, her spatial ring was essentially a magical blast-chiller.

She pulled out a delicate, perfectly chilled porcelain plate.

Resting on the plate was a masterpiece of architectural pastry.

It was an Osmanthus-Lotus Mille-Feuille.

It featured twelve alternating, paper-thin layers of impossibly flaky, butter-laminated spirit-wheat pastry, separated by thick, luscious ribbons of whipped lotus-root cream.

The entire pastry was encased beneath a delicate, fragile, perfectly clear dome of chilled spun-sugar that looked like a glass snow globe.

"Oh," Yan Zhaoge breathed softly, his dark eyes widening slightly.

The lazy, arrogant smirk vanished, replaced by a look of genuine, almost religious reverence.

Ji’an shoved the plate unceremoniously into his chest. "Osmanthus-Lotus Mille-Feuille. The sugar dome is infused with a microscopic whisper of mint-qi to cleanse the palate before the butter hits. Eat it and be quiet."

Yan Zhaoge took the plate with both hands, treating it with more care than he had treated the entire Azure Dragon Sect.

He didn’t use a fork.

He raised a single, long finger and gently, deliberately tapped the apex of the spun-sugar dome.

CRACK!!!

The sugar shattered with a satisfying, brittle snap, falling away like broken glass to reveal the layered pastry beneath.

He picked up the Mille-Feuille.

He closed his eyes, taking a slow, deep inhale of the sweet, floral osmanthus and the rich, browned butter.

And then, the Overtime Boss took a bite.

The sound of the impossibly flaky pastry shattering between his teeth echoed loudly in the quiet, soundproofed bubble.

Yan Zhaoge stopped moving entirely.

For ten agonizing seconds, the deity sat completely frozen in the bamboo chair. His dark eyes remained closed.

A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his broad shoulders.

When he finally opened his eyes, the ecstasy shining in his amber irises was actually slightly terrifying.

"The lamination," Yan Zhaoge whispered hoarsely, staring at the half-eaten pastry as if it held the secrets of the universe. "How did you achieve this level of lamination without the butter melting into the dough during the folding process? The ambient temperature of your kitchen must have been perfectly stabilized at forty-two degrees."

Ji’an, despite her intense irritation, felt a sudden surge of professional pride.

None of the boys ever noticed the lamination.

Gu Zhiwei just inhaled her food like a vacuum cleaner. Lu Jianheng analyzed the spiritual energy output.

But Yan Zhaoge?

Yan Zhaoge was actually critiquing the fundamental, structural integrity of her baking technique.

"I use a stasis array on my rolling pin," Ji’an replied, a genuinely enthusiastic, nerdy smirk breaking through her scowl. "It temporarily halts the molecular friction of the dough, preventing the butter from warming up while I execute the folds. It ensures distinct, separate layers that shatter upon impact rather than crumbling."

Yan Zhaoge stared at her. He took another bite, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving her face.

"So that means... you’re using spatial magic to make puff pastry," he summarized, swallowing heavily.

"Efficiency is everything, Boss," Ji’an shrugged lazily, leaning back on her hands.