The grand dining hall of the estate usually echoed with the grim, subdued silence of high-ranking military strategists reviewing border maps over cold broth. Tonight, however, the massive oak table groaned under the weight of heavy platters piled high with steaming braised pork belly, roasted root vegetables, and thick, hearty loaves of barley bread.
Thirty veteran vanguard officers filed into the room, their heavy iron boots clanking against the polished floor. They had come expecting a stiff, awkward evening of nursing weak tea while pretending not to notice a terrified, fragile omega cowering in the corner.
Instead, they found the dining room rearranged with military precision.
Wen Yu stood near the head of the table, his sleeves neatly rolled down, his hair retied into a clean silver pin, and a stack of wooden serving ladles organized by size right beside him. He looked less like a panicked royal consort and more like a four-star quartermaster preparing for a grueling winter campaign.
"Take your seats, commanders," Wen Yu announced, his voice carrying clearly across the hall with an easy, confident authority. "Left side for the vanguard scouts who need high-mobility protein; right side for the heavy infantry who need slow-release complex carbohydrates for endurance marching. Do not mix up the broth bowls—the extra garlic infusion is specifically dosed to combat seasonal fatigue."
Commander Gao blinked, staring down at the meticulously arranged seating layout before slowly pulling out a heavy wooden chair. He sat down, casting a sideways glance at Lieutenant Zhao.
"Did we accidentally wander into a war council headquarters, or is this dinner?" Gao muttered out of the side of his mouth.
Lieutenant Zhao didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were locked on the massive platter of braised pork belly sitting directly in front of him, glistening with a rich, caramel glaze that smelled so intensely savory it made his mouth water instantly.
At the head of the long table, Xie Yan pulled out his own chair, settling in with a slow, deliberate grace. His dark eyes swept over his bewildered officers, then shifted to Wen Yu, who was currently bustling around the table like a seasoned mess sergeant making sure every single bowl was accounted for.
A quiet, profound sense of amusement rippled through the general. He watched as Commander Gao, who normally treated court-appointed nobility with thinly veiled contempt, looked up at Wen Yu with a sudden, gruff expression of absolute respect.
"Consort Wen," Gao barked out, clearing his throat loudly as Wen Yu passed by his chair with a ladle. "I’ve spent ten years eating campaign rations cooked by crusty camp followers who couldn’t tell salt from sand. Where on earth did a provincial household teach you how to fuel a frontline battalion?"
Wen Yu paused, offering a bright, professional smile while expertly dodging a stray drop of gravy.
"Good logistics is the backbone of any successful military campaign, Commander Gao," Wen Yu replied smoothly, dropping a generous, protein-heavy portion of pork belly onto the officer’s wooden plate. "If the stomach is empty, morale drops by fifty percent. If morale drops, reaction times on the battlefield double. You cannot fight the northern tribes if your infantry is running on weak tea and decorative lotus roots."
Across the table, several veteran officers let out booming laughs of hearty agreement.
"He speaks absolute truth!" one heavy infantry captain shouted, picking up his fork and digging into the roasted root vegetables with unrestrained enthusiasm. "By the gods, this pork melts right on the tongue! Forget the capital’s poetry salons—this estate needs to put the Consort in charge of our winter supply lines!"
"Eat up and keep your voices down," Lieutenant Zhao chuckled, though he was already halfway through his first bowl of stew. "Or the Ministry of Revenue will try to draft him into the imperial quartermaster corps."
Xie Yan leaned back in his chair, taking a slow sip of his wine as he watched the dining hall transform from a tense, stiff obligation into a warm, roaring mess hall of happy, well-fed soldiers. The officers had completely stopped whispering behind their hands; instead, they were raising their cups in silent, respectful toasts toward the head of the table, entirely won over by a combination of high-calorie comfort food and uncompromising logistical logic.
Deep behind his cool, stoic exterior, Xie Yan listened to the chaotic, hilarious whirlwind of thoughts spinning inside Wen Yu’s head at that exact moment.
[Oh, thank goodness!] Wen Yu was mentally collapsing into a heap of pure, unadulterated relief, standing just out of arm’s reach while watching the plates empty at lightning speed. [They’re actually eating it! They aren’t throwing it back at me, they aren’t calling me a peasant imposter, and Commander Gao looks like he’s about to cry tears of joy over a piece of pork belly! My corporate catering instincts have officially saved me from execution for the third time this week!]
A sudden, fierce wave of warmth hit the center of Xie Yan’s chest. He had spent his entire life surrounded by soldiers who respected him out of fear, and courtiers who fawned over him out of ambition. None of them had ever looked at his home and turned it into a true sanctuary—and certainly none of them had done it while mentally hyperventilating over braised pork recipes.
Xie Yan bit the inside of his cheek hard, fighting down a massive, inappropriate grin as he listened to Wen Yu’s mental victory lap.
"Is something wrong with the food, General?" Wen Yu asked softly, leaning in close as he noticed the general staring at him. The playful, confident mess-hall persona melted away instantly, replaced by a slight, endearing flicker of insecurity. "Did I over-season the garlic? I can have the kitchen whip up a lighter broth if—"
"The food is exceptional," Xie Yan interrupted, his deep voice dropping into a low, rumbling timbre that carried only to Wen Yu’s ears. The general reached across the table, his warm, calloused fingers gently catching Wen Yu’s wrist. "In fact, you have completely ruined my vanguard officers. They will never look at another camp cook the same way again."
Wen Yu’s cheeks flushed a soft, pleasing pink. He let out a breathless, relieved laugh, his pulse steadying under the solid, anchoring warmth of the general’s grip.
"Good," Wen Yu murmured, his dark eyes sparkling with a bright, wicked kind of charm as he looked down at the hand holding his wrist. "An army marches on its stomach, General. If I’m going to survive living in this viper’s nest of a capital, I might as well start by making sure your entire private army is fiercely loyal to my kitchen."
Xie Yan’s dark eyes filled with a heavy, intoxicating mix of amusement and absolute devotion. He gave Wen Yu’s wrist a soft, deliberate squeeze, his thumb tracing the smooth skin of the younger boy’s pulse point.
"They are already loyal," Xie Yan whispered, his gaze locked onto Wen Yu’s flushed face. "And as for the capital’s vipers... let them come. They have no idea what kind of logistics expert they are up against."