High above the impending glacial apocalypse, in a private dressing room just behind the main stage of the Grand Atrium, Lin Ji'an was currently experiencing a psychological crisis of her own.
She stared into the full-length bronze mirror.
"I am going to murder everyone in this sect," Ji'an whispered, her voice dead.
She was no longer wearing her comfortable Szechuan Red combat trousers.
The succubi tailors had descended upon her, aggressively stripping her and forcing her into the "performance attire."
They didn't get to expose her, thanks to the locket artifact hanging around her neck.
It was a nightmare of flowing fabrics.
She wore loose, wide-legged pants of translucent dark crimson silk, cinched at the waist by a heavy gold belt.
Her upper body was clad in a sleeveless, breathable, wrap-style vest of black silk that plunged dangerously low, leaving her arms completely bare and emphasizing the sharp lines of her collarbones.
