[Ding! Blackening Value: 67%... 65%... 60%!]
[System Note: Host... what are you doing? This is not in the script.]
"The script is garbage," Ji'an thought, watching the boy begin to eat with a ferocity that bordered on desperation. "I'm writing a new one. It's called 'How to Not Get Stabbed by a Villain Using Only Carbs'."
As Xie Wangchen shoveled the rice into his mouth, his tears, silent and involuntary, began to drop into the bowl. He didn't look up or didn't thank her. But the murderous tension in his shoulders had vanished, replaced by a fragile, trembling silence.
Lin Ji'an leaned against the counter, her "ugly face" softening into something weary but satisfied. She looked at the boy, her future executioner, and felt a strange, protective tug in her chest.
"I'm a straight girl," she reminded herself. "I'm just a straight bro helping a little brother out. No 'unspeakable' things here. Just fried rice."
But as she looked at the "Unrecorded Variable" label floating over her own head in the System's vision, she knew that the Game Over she had feared was just the beginning of a much more dangerous, much more delicious world.
"Xie Wangchen," she said softly.
The boy looked up, his face smeared with grease and tears.
"From tomorrow, you're not a water-hauler. You're my personal kitchen assistant. If anyone touches you, they answer to my fists. Understood?"
Xie Wangchen didn't speak. He just looked at her, not at the "Third Son," but at the person who had given him the first warm meal of his new life.
[Blackening Value: 55%.]
[Warning: Plot Deviation 400%. Hostile aura detected.]
Ji'an sighed, cracking her knuckles. "Let them come. I haven't even made dessert yet."
.
.
.
The ceramic bowl was empty. Not a single grain of golden, saffron-infused rice remained.
The only evidence of the meal was the faint sheen of oil at the bottom and the lingering, savory aroma of spirit-boar bacon that hung heavy in the warm air of the private kitchen.
Xie Wangchen sat motionless on the wooden stool, his hands gripping his knees so tightly that his knuckles had turned the color of old bone.
The warmth spreading through his stomach was undeniable, a comforting, radiating heat that seemed to seep into his frozen meridians, thawing parts of him he thought had long since died. But his mind was a whirlwind of ice.
Why?
The question hammered against his skull. Why would Lin Ji'an, the Third Young Master of the Lin Mansion, a person known for a temper as vile as swamp water and a heart smaller than a mustard seed, cook for a mere slave?
He looked up slowly, through the curtain of his matted, grimy hair. His dark eyes darted toward the figure leaning casually against the kitchen counter.
Lin Ji'an was wiping her hands on a silk handkerchief worth more than Xie Wangchen's entire life. Her expression was unreadable, a strange mix of arrogance and… satisfaction?
Xie Wangchen's stomach twisted, the comfort of the food instantly souring into dread. It's a game, he realized. It has to be.
In the cruel hierarchy of the cultivation world, kindness was never free. The last time someone had offered him a sweet cake with a smile, it was the broker who sold him into the slave pits.
The time before that, it was a "kind" aunt who lured him out of his hiding spot so the assassins could find his family.
Lin Ji'an was famous for her mercurial cruelty. Perhaps the rice was poisoned with a slow-acting toxin that would make his intestines rot over days.
Perhaps she wanted him full and energetic so he would last longer under a whip. Or perhaps…
His gaze dropped to his own hands, calloused and filthy. He was known as the "beauty" of the slave market before his purchase.
The original Lin Ji'an had bought him for that face. Was the meal a payment? A bribe before the violation?
A low, guttural growl rose in his throat, involuntary, defensive, like a cornered beast. His muscles coiled, ready to snap.
If this "Young Master" tried to touch him, Xie Wangchen decided he would use the ceramic bowl to smash the bastard's skull in, even if it meant being executed by the guards a moment later.
Across the room, Lin Ji'an watched him. To her, the boy didn't look like a terrifying future villain. He looked like a wet, angry kitten fluffing up its fur to look bigger.
'Cute,' she thought, before mentally slapping herself. 'Stop it, Lin Ji'an. That is a ticking time bomb. That is the Destroyer of Worlds. Do not coo at him.'
[System Alert: Target Xie Wangchen's Suspicion Level: MAX. Blackening Value fluctuating between 55% and 60%. Interpretation: He thinks you are fattening him up for slaughter or assault.]
Lin Ji'an sighed internally.
Of course. In a BL novel, if a character wasn't trying to kill you, they were usually trying to bed you. The concept of "pure altruism" didn't exist here.
If she acted too nice, too suddenly, it would only terrify him more. She had to speak his language, the language of transaction and selfishness. She had to use the "Original Scum Villain" persona to save him.
She pushed off the counter, straightening her posture into the haughty, chin-lifted stance of a spoiled noble.
"You have a lot of nerve," Ji'an scoffed, her voice dripping with practiced disdain. "Glaring at your master after he fed you high-grade spirit rice? I should have your eyes gouged out."
Xie Wangchen flinched, his shoulders hunching defensively.
'There it is,' he thought.
The real face. Paradoxically, this threat made him relax slightly. This was a familiar territory. He knew how to survive hatred; he didn't know how to survive kindness.
"This slave... deserves death," he rasped, the formulaic apology tasting like ash in his mouth.
"Death is easy. Usefulness is hard," Ji'an interrupted, stepping closer. The scent of her, clean soap, expensive sandalwood, and the faint, appetizing aroma of chili oil invaded his personal space.