The air turned sharp, heavy with unspoken hostility. Xiao Ling's expression twisted in irritation, but it was Icehart who reacted first.
His usually cold and unreadable face darkened, a rare flicker of emotion breaking through his icy demeanor.
His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened, and a faint layer of frost spread across the ground beneath him.
"I told you to stop calling me that!" His voice was loud.
Liu Mei's eyes glowed with amusement, but beneath it, there was something sharper.
Something that cut deeper than just playful mockery.
"Why wouldn't I?" she asked, tilting her head. "No matter how fine the silk, a monkey remains a monkey. Dress it up all you want—it won't change what it is."
The crowd stiffened. Some sucked in sharp breaths. Others took a cautious step back.
Icehart's name alone commanded respect. As the young master of the White Ice Sect, he was someone few dared to offend.
