When Ji'an stepped onto the polished, petrified-wood floorboards of the fitting floor, she didn't care to maintain a modest profile.
She strutted in with her hands tucked into the small of her back, her Black Iron Spatula gleaming on her leg, the two-tailed silver Nekomata kitten draped lazily across her shoulders like a living, glowing stole.
Apparently, it wouldn't stay with Wangchen because he couldn't make good food like Ji'an, so he left the nekomata in her care.
She stopped in the center of the hall, and her brain immediately suffered an irritating spike of aesthetic overload.
The Top Ten Disciples of the Celestial Sword Sect were already lined up in a strict, perfect row, standing atop individual, circular jade measurement pedestals.
It was a hazard of extreme, stratospheric male beauty.
Standing at Rank 1, Xie Wangchen looked like an ageless god of winter.
