Chapter 443: He Knows

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’."

"Looks like there is a misunderstanding, but I do not control either," Yan Zhaoge smirked, his expression entirely unapologetic. "I optimize. There is a difference."

While Ji’an and Yan Zhaoge engaged in an oddly comfortable banter about pastry lamination, the situation outside the soundproof bubble was deteriorating into a catastrophic pantomime.

Through the transparent purple energy shield, Ji’an could see the thirteen male protagonists slowly losing their grip on sanity.

Gu Zhiwei was currently pressing his face and both hands flat against the barrier.

His handsome features were squished against the energy field like a tragic mime trapped in an invisible box.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks dramatically as he kept pointing to his own mouth, then pointing to the empty dessert plate in Yan Zhaoge’s hands, his golden aura strobing in a desperate, silent plea for carbohydrates and inclusion.

Lu Jianheng had abandoned his aristocratic dignity.

The Sword Lord was repeatedly headbutting the barrier. Every time his forehead connected with the purple energy, a burst of icy-blue sparks erupted, but the dome held firm.

He was mouthing what looked like a deeply dramatic series of orthodox bangers, but without audio, he just looked like a concussed fish gasping for air.

Hu Yanlie was attempting to dig under the barrier.

The feral Beast Lord was literally on his hands and knees, using his bare, scarred hands to try and rip up the woven palm fronds of the yacht’s floorboards to tunnel into the VIP section.

Wen Shiru was sitting a few feet back, furiously writing on a large piece of parchment. He held the sign up to the barrier. It read: I WILL PAY YOU TWO MILLION SPIRIT STONES TO EVICT THE PURPLE MAN!

But the most terrifying, unnerving spectacle was Xie Wangchen.

The Ice Demon wasn’t hitting the barrier. He wasn’t crying.

He was standing one inch away from the purple dome, directly in front of Yan Zhaoge. His sheer, silver-threaded belly-dancer top was completely frozen solid.

His ruby eyes were wide, unblinking, and bleeding a thick, terrifying crimson mist. He was staring directly at Yan Zhaoge’s neck with the focused intent of a serial killer visualizing an arterial spray.

He slowly, deliberately drew his thumb across his own throat in a universal gesture of impending, graphic murder.

"Your Ice Demon seems to be quite upset," Yan Zhaoge noted lazily, glancing at Wangchen without a shred of concern.

"Ignore him," Ji’an sighed, rubbing her forehead. "He has severe separation anxiety. If I am out of his direct line of sight for more than four minutes, he starts freezing the local ecosystem."

"He is highly territorial," Yan Zhaoge analyzed, his dark eyes shifting from the fuming Wangchen back to Ji’an. "He looks at you as if you belong in a glass display case on his mantle. And the others... they look at you as if you are a religious idol."

Yan Zhaoge leaned back in the bamboo chair, crossing his arms. He studied her face, the luminescent silver hair, the glitching, ethereal beauty, the heavy, oversized white robe hiding her figure.

"You hide your power, little Chef," Yan Zhaoge murmured, his voice dropping the playful, bantering tone, adopting a heavy, observant gravity. "You are at the Body Fusion realm. You could slaughter every single one of those boys with a flick of your wrist. Yet you allow them to believe they are protecting you. You allow them to project their ridiculous, infantile romantic delusions onto you."

Ji’an stiffened.

Her heart gave a sudden, uncomfortable lurch.

’He sees too much,’ she thought, a cold sweat breaking out across her collarbones. ’He sees right through my fake persona.’

"It keeps them motivated," Ji’an deflected, maintaining a flat, unbothered expression. "If they think they have to protect me, they train harder. It’s pedagogical manipulation."

"It is exhausting to put on an act for so long though," Yan Zhaoge corrected smoothly.

He leaned forward again, bridging the distance between them. The scent of ozone and spiced amber enveloped her.

"You are a creature of immense, chaotic fire, Ji’an," Yan Zhaoge whispered, his amber eyes burning with intense, terrifyingly genuine admiration. "You shouldn’t have to dim your flames to avoid burning the fragile egos of these children. You shouldn’t have to play the chaperone."

He offered a slow, impossibly charming, deeply sincere smile.

"I like you very much, Lin Ji’an."

The words dropped into the soundproof bubble like a tactical nuclear strike.

Ji’an’s brain completely halted.

’He likes me?’ her internal monologue shrieked, the transmigrator panic alarms blaring at maximum volume. ’Is he hitting on me?! Is the Overtime Boss initiating a romance route?! No, wait, look at his eyes. He’s not looking at my... He’s looking at my spatial ring. He doesn’t want to date me. He wants my puff pastry recipe!’

"I wish I could steal you from Jiu Zui," Yan Zhaoge continued, oblivious to her internal meltdown, his voice thick with genuine, professional longing. "I would take you as my direct disciple, give you unrestricted access to the Grand Forges of the Iron-Stone Monastery. We could rebuild the foundational arrays of the continent together. You would never have to babysit a golden retriever ever again."

Ji’an stared at him.

The offer was... incredibly tempting.

Unrestricted access to a legendary forge? A mentor who actually understood the physics of her cooking? No more hormone-poisoned teenagers trying to propose to her?

But she remembered the Stargazing Tower.

She remembered the looming cosmic conspiracy that this man was undoubtedly involved in.

"I’m not looking for a new master, Sovereign Yan," Ji’an replied, her voice steady, though her hands were trembling slightly. She met his intense gaze without flinching. "I have my own path. And my own questions."

***

Yan Zhaoge’s smile didn’t fade.

It deepened. It evolved from a smile of professional admiration into the sharp, knowing, incredibly dangerous grin of a predator who had just successfully cornered its prey.

"Yes," Yan Zhaoge murmured softly. "You do have questions, don’t you?"

He reached into his robes and pulled out the heavy jade jug of plum wine she had surrendered to him at the brothel.

He unstoppered it, took a slow, deliberate sip, and set the jug on the armrest.

"You successfully replicated a vintage that old fool Jiu Zui thought was lost to time," Yan Zhaoge stated, his eyes locking onto hers with absolute, terrifying clarity. "It is a masterpiece. A genuine work of art."

He leaned down until his face was mere inches from hers. The air in the bubble grew heavy, vibrating with immense, suppressed power.

"For half that jug, little Chef..." Yan Zhaoge whispered, his voice dropping to a barely audible, spine-chilling purr. "...I might just tell you exactly what you want to know."

Ji’an stopped breathing.

"I might tell you about the astrolabes," Yan Zhaoge continued, his words hitting her like physical blows. "I might tell you about the Seers. And I might tell you about the souls they summon from across the void."

The world tilted on its axis.

The blood roared in Ji’an’s ears. The soundproof bubble seemed to shrink, crushing her.

He knows.

He didn’t just suspect.

He absolutely knew about what he was talking about. He knew about the Stargazing Tower, the soul-summoning ritual that had brought her from Earth into this body.

He knew she was an anomaly.

All her careful plotting. All her attempts to lay low, to play the chef, to hide behind the Vanguard Retinue, it was entirely useless.

The Overtime Boss had been holding the winning hand the entire time.