The ambient temperature in the courtyard, which he had fought so hard to regulate, violently plummeted by ten degrees.
'Is he delayed?' the dark, paranoid voice in his mind whispered, a serpent uncoiling in his chest. 'Did Elder Qin intercept him? Did that dog guy intercept him? Is someone else eating my pork belly?'
Unable to bear the agonizing silence a second longer, Wangchen stood up.
He didn't walk; he blurred into a streak of white light, utilizing a high-level movement technique to bypass the winding mountain paths, heading straight for the Drunken Peak to claim what was his.
But when the Ice Demon finally breached the overgrown, chaotic wards of the Drunken Sovereign's mountain and kicked open the doors to the kitchen... he found it empty.
The hearth was cold.
The prep tables were spotless.
The only thing left behind was a hastily scribbled note pinned to the wooden cutting board with a throwing knife.
