But before Wangchen could unleash the apocalyptic fury of a protective monster, the echoes of Ji'an's voice were fully processed in his brain.
'Little Puddle.'
'Freeze him solid.'
'Braised pork belly with the crispy skin.'
Wangchen stood perfectly still. His head was slightly bowed, his dark hair falling forward to shadow his face.
To the audience, it looked like the terrifying calm before a devastating storm. They assumed he was gathering his Qi, preparing to unleash a domain of absolute slaughter to punish the disrespect.
But underneath the curtain of his dark, silky hair, a catastrophic biological reaction was occurring.
Wangchen's heart, which usually beat with a slow, controlled, icy rhythm, suddenly hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
A surge of heat, a completely alien, confusing, and overwhelming warmth, rushed up his neck.
His ears were burning.
Literally burning.
