Ji'an snapped back to reality.
She was surrounded by a horde of screaming ghosts, had a fake-sick assassin screaming in the corner, a jealous servant yelling at her, and a literal Demon Lord treating her life-or-death struggle like a Netflix special!
Something inside Lin Ji'an, a very deep, very tired core of patience, finally snapped.
"I am so tired of you people," Ji'an whispered, her voice eerily calm.
She gripped the handle of her Black Iron Spatula with both hands. She didn't just channel her Yang Qi; she channeled her sheer, unfiltered frustration with the plot, the characters, and the absolute absurdity of her situation.
The iron spatula began to glow. It wasn't just hot; it was incandescent. The air around the metal warped and distorted from the sheer thermal output.
Ji'an blurred.
She bypassed the Yin-Demons entirely. She didn't engage in elegant martial arts.
