It was replaced instantly by a sensation that it rivaled the physical pain of compressing her internal meridians.
It was the dreaded horror of a "Vulnerability Hangover."
'Oh, my, god,' Ji'an's internal monologue shrieked, a frantic, red-alert siren blaring in her mind as she remained frozen on one knee. 'What did I just do? Why did I do that?! I just trauma-dumped via interpretive sword dance in front of the entire imperial court! I poured my alien angst out onto the polished mahogany floor like spilled soup! I acted like an edgy, misunderstood teenager in a coming-of-age drama!'
A hot, prickly flush of shame crept up her neck, setting the tips of her ears on fire.
She was supposed to be the arrogant, untouchable Head Chef of the Drunken Peak!
She was the Martial Uncle who threatened princes with spatulas and extorted millions of spirit stones from black market syndicates!
