Raising the Villain in Wrong Way

"Thanks!" Ji’an grinned, picking up a rib and taking a massive bite, entirely at ease. "It means I can start processing higher-tier beast meat. I got an Abyssal Dragon Bone from the Black Market. I’m going to make a broth that will blow your mind."

Wangchen watched her eat.

He didn’t speak for a long moment. The silence in the room wasn’t cold; rather, it felt... ambiguous.

He slowly reached into the wide sleeve of his damp inner robe.

"I also have something for you," Wangchen said quietly.

Ji’an paused mid-chew, looking up like a curious chipmunk. "Eh? What is it? A present? For my breakthrough?"

Wangchen pulled his hand from his sleeve. Resting on his pale palm was a beautiful, intricately woven bracelet.

It was crafted from incredibly thin, durable threads of silver and deep, midnight-blue spirit-silk, and in the center of the weave rested a single, flawless, translucent bead of pure ice-jade.

"It is a Frost-Silk Pulse Guard," Wangchen explained, leaning across the small tea table. "I wove it myself. The silk is harvested from the highest peaks, and the jade is infused with a passive, cooling array."

Ji’an stared at the bracelet, her eyes wide. "Wangchen, that looks incredibly expensive. And you made it? Since when do you do arts and crafts?"

"It is to protect your hands," Wangchen said, his voice dropping into that soft, hypnotic register again. "You work with open flames and boiling oils. The cooling array will automatically regulate the temperature around your wrists to prevent burns. And the silk is strong enough to deflect a blade."

"That’s... that’s incredibly thoughtful," Ji’an breathed, genuinely touched. She wiped her hands on her apron and reached out to take the bracelet from his palm.

But Wangchen didn’t hand it to her.

Instead, he moved his hand forward, bypassing her reaching fingers. He took her left wrist in his right hand.

Ji’an froze.

His grip was gentle, but entirely immovable. He pulled her hand slightly closer to him across the table.

With slow, agonizingly deliberate movements, Wangchen wrapped the Frost-Silk bracelet around her wrist.

The physical contact was prolonged. His cool fingers brushed against her pulse point.

The slick, damp silk of his loose inner robe brushed against her knuckles as he worked the intricate knot.

Ji’an’s heart, which had just calmed down, suddenly kicked back into high gear.

The atmosphere in the room felt incredibly thick. The scent of the mint and his damp hair was overwhelming.

He was so close she could see the faint, rhythmic pulse at the base of his pale throat.

’Why is he tying it so slowly?’ Ji’an’s mind scrambled, a faint blush creeping back up her neck. ’This feels... this feels extremely ambiguous. Are bros supposed to maintain unbroken eye contact while tying jewelry on each other?!’

Wangchen finally secured the knot. He didn’t let go of her wrist immediately.

His thumb slowly, almost imperceptibly, stroked the inside of her wrist, right over her racing pulse.

He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto hers.

"There," Wangchen murmured softly. "A perfect fit."

He finally released her hand, leaning back on his cushion, picking up his chopsticks as if he hadn’t just short-circuited her entire nervous system.

Ji’an quickly pulled her hand back, rubbing the cool jade bead of the bracelet. The artifact felt wonderful against her skin, soothing the lingering aches from her harsh training.

She looked at Wangchen, who was calmly eating another dumpling.

’I am overthinking this,’ Ji’an scolded herself, desperately clutching onto her rationalizations. ’He is just being a good sworn brother. He gave me a practical, kitchen-safety gift. The eye contact is just... how he looks at people! He’s intense! The fire has cooled off. Everything is perfectly platonic!’

"Thank you, Wangchen," Ji’an smiled, forcing her voice to remain vibrant and cheerful. "This is awesome. It’ll definitely help when I’m searing steaks. We’re definitely the best of bros."

"Indeed," Wangchen agreed smoothly, taking a sip of his tea. "Bros."

***

An hour later, the bento box was empty. Lin Ji’an had talked for forty-five minutes straight about her new wok techniques, the chaotic shopping spree with Jiu Zui, and her plans to monopolize the sect’s dining hall.

Xie Wangchen had listened to every single word with absolute, unwavering attention.

He had laughed at the right moments, offered insightful commentary, and acted as the perfect, supportive companion.

When Ji’an finally packed up her velvet cloth, she felt lighter than she had in weeks.

"I should head back," Ji’an said, standing up and stretching. "Master is probably trying to ferment a new batch of wine in my soup pots, and I need to go stop him. I’ll come back tomorrow with the braised pork shoulder!"

"I look forward to it," Wangchen replied, standing up to walk her to the door.

"See ya, Little Puddle!" Ji’an waved cheerfully, turning her back and walking out into the sunlit courtyard, completely and utterly convinced that the danger of the yandere plotline had been safely neutralized.

She walked away, feeling victorious, confident that she could now safely guide and help him without the looming threat of obsessive romantic tension.

Xie Wangchen stood in the doorway of his room, watching her gray apron disappear down the winding mountain path.

The moment she was entirely out of sight, the serene, polite smile on Wangchen’s face vanished completely.

The dark, bottomless abyss returned to his eyes. The temperature in the room, which he had so carefully suppressed for the last two hours, instantly dropped to freezing.

The remaining tea in his cup crystallized into solid ice.

He raised his right hand, the hand that had held her wrist, the hand that had tied the bracelet, and slowly brought his fingers to his lips.

He closed his eyes, savoring the phantom warmth of her skin, the lingering scent of her spices.

He hadn’t cooled off.

The fire of his obsession hadn’t diminished in the slightest. In fact, after a week of agonizing separation, it had mutated into something far more dangerous, far more sophisticated.