"What is this?"
The voice that came out of Wen Yu’s throat sounded like a strangled whistle. "Whose voice is that? Why do I sound like a teenage guy?"
He kicked frantically as his ankles snagged in a heavy heap of expensive silk. "Ow, ow, ow! Why does my whole body ache like I got flattened by a truck? And what is that smell? Why does everything smell like fresh pine needles instead of my stale instant noodles?"
He held his smooth, narrow hands up to his eyes, staring in total disbelief at a young man’s pale, unfamiliar fingers. "Where are my calluses? I’ve spent six years holding a digital stylus, so where did my right-index callus go?" He looked down at the loose silk robe slipping off his chest, catching sight of a faint, pale scent mark at the base of his neck—a distinct physical trait of a male omega. He stared up at the dark mahogany bedpost, calculating the craftsmanship. "This timber... this bedpost alone costs more than my company’s entire quarterly budget! Where on earth am I?"
He desperately tried to recall last night: sitting in his cheap swivel chair as a guy working endless late nights, furiously red-penciling Chapter six of The General’s Unyielding Bond at three in the morning, followed by sudden chest pain, a white-hot headache, and total darkness.
"Who’s there?" Wen Yu rasped, locking eyes with a massive figure standing near the window.
Supreme General Xie Yan was encased in dark plate metal heavy enough to sink a boat, silver dragon engravings adorning his chest while a thick fur mantle blocked out the morning light.
"You are awake," Xie Yan said, his deep voice carrying a low rumble that vibrated right through the wooden floorboards.
[No. Absolutely not. I am asleep on my sticky desk, having a stress dream because my manager threatened to dock my pay if I didn’t turn in Chapter forty-two by noon.]
"Keep your seat," Xie Yan ordered, metal gauntlets clattering softly as he crossed his broad arms over his chest. "Formalities are pointless now."
"Sir?" Wen Yu stammered, feeling cold sweat drip down his neck. "Did... did someone mix up the hotel wings? What is this outfit? Why is there a servant uniform thrown over that stool?"
"Last night, your heat suppressants failed completely inside my private wing," Xie Yan stated, his tone as flat and clinical as a tax collector reading off an audit. "To avoid an official court investigation and protect the honor of this house, I sent an emergency courier to the palace before dawn."
"A courier?" Wen Yu gasped. [To the front desk?!] "A... a runner? What for?!"
"The imperial marriage decree is already filed," Xie Yan said smoothly. "You are no longer a background servant here, Wen Yu. As of two hours ago, you are my lawful consort."
"Your what?!" Wen Yu choked out, his jaw dropping as a fellow man stood there declaring them married. "Consort? As in married? To you?"
The exact names finally collided in his brain: Supreme General Xie Yan, a male omega servant named Wen Yu, a failed heat suppressant, and an emergency marriage decree. It was word-for-word the exact opening setup of the trashy BL webnovel he had been editing right before he passed out. The pale hands, the scent mark, the pine pheromones—this wasn’t a weird hotel or a lucid dream.
[Oh, fuck me. I actually transmigrated!] Wen Yu realized with mounting dread, his mind spinning as the pieces locked into place. [I’m a guy trapped inside the body of a background male omega in Chapter six of the bottom-tier BL webnovel I publicly slammed on forums for four months straight!]
Across the room, Xie Yan twitched slightly. His dark eyes narrowed into thin slits, his stoic face flickering with pure confusion as he tilted his head, seemingly listening to the empty air.
[Are you serious right now?] Wen Yu’s internal monologue screeched, completely unaware that his frantic realization was broadcasting live inside the general’s skull. [I didn’t even get an execution scene? Straight into a shotgun wedding with the main antagonist?! Look at those cheekbones—he looks like he uses them to open his mail! Is this where it turns into a domestic abuse arc, or is he going to put rat poison in my tea by noon?!]
Xie Yan took a heavy step forward, pressing two armored fingers against his temple as if nursing a sudden headache. "Silence."
"General?" Wen Yu pulled the silk quilt up to his chin. "Is something wrong? Did I break an estate rule already? Can’t we just cancel the paperwork? Isn’t there a grace period?!"
"Quiet," Xie Yan repeated, raising a single palm.
"I’m quiet! I’m completely quiet!" Wen Yu squeaked, clamping both hands firmly over his lips. [Did I say the trope part out loud? Did I break character already?!]
Xie Yan set his jaw hard, trying his best to drown out the bizarre commentary echoing inside his skull. "Your heart is racing," he noted dryly, stepping right up to the edge of the high mattress. "Whatever strange mental state you are currently experiencing, you need to pay attention to my words."
"I’m paying attention! I’m listening!" Wen Yu blurted out, forcing his chin up defensively. "What do you want me to do?!"
"The imperial seal is on the paper," Xie Yan said, leaning down slightly until his broad shadow completely buried the bed. "The court believes we shared a moment of uncontrolled passion, so undoing this decree now means a treason trial for both of us. Do you understand what that means?"
"It means execution," Wen Yu whispered, his lungs tightening under the heavy, suffocating scent of pine and resin. "It means we both die."
"Precisely," Xie Yan murmured, his dark eyes locked onto Wen Yu’s pale, panicked face. "So you will stay in this estate, keep your head down, and play the part of my devoted spouse until I resolve the political court. Do we have an agreement?"
"Yes! Absolutely! Clear as crystal!" Wen Yu nodded rapidly, while his editor’s brain screamed at full volume directly into the general’s skull.
[Help me. I just got married to my favorite fictional villain, and I’m going to end up in a plot grave before the week ends!]