Three months ago, he had been a ragged slave boy in gray sackcloth. Now, he was a vision of high-tier cultivation wealth.
His robes were woven from Ice-Silk, shimmering with a faint, protective enchantment that repelled dust and blood.
A jade pendant of the highest purity, which was a gift from Elder Qin, hung at his waist, stabilizing his Qi. His hair was bound by a silver crown inlaid with a Spirit-Focusing Gem.
To the outside world, he was the terrifying genius of the Ice Root, the "Little Monster" of the sect.
But to Lin Ji'an, who was waiting at the foot of the mountain with a basket of steamed buns, he just looked like a very well-dressed penguin.
"You're late," Ji'an called out, tossing a bun into the air.
Wangchen caught it effortlessly without breaking stride. The cold indifference on his face melted instantly, replaced by a softness that would have given his fan club heart palpitations.
