"Is it true, then?" whispered a noble lady from behind a painted silk fan, her voice carrying just enough volume to drift across the stone pathway. "The Supreme General really brought a former scullery servant to the imperial moon-viewing feast? Look at him—he walks as if he expects the cobblestones to turn into kitchen tiles."
A nearby young marquis snickered, adjusting his heavy mink cloak as he cast a condescending glance toward the pair. "Dress a provincial maid in gold brocade and he is still just a maid. I give it thirty minutes before he pours wine on his own robes or stumbles over the basic imperial greetings."
Wen Yu’s step faltered for a fraction of a second, his posture stiffening as the barbs hit their mark. On the outside, he lowered his long lashes, pitching his face into a soft, sorrowful portrait of a frail, overwhelmed omega spouse wilting under the harsh gaze of high society.
[Oh, look, the welcoming committee of unprovoked haters has arrived!] Wen Yu screamed internally, his brain instantly switching into ruthless editor-review mode as he cataloged the crowd. [Marquis Lin over there is wearing a silk pattern that went out of style three Chapters ago, and Lady Chen’s fan painting looks like a budget illustration from a self-published romance novel! You think your snark is original?! I have edited three hundred thousand words of bitter background antagonists saying this exact same line! Get some better dialogue writers, you uninspired extras!]
Beside him, Xie Yan’s grip on his hand tightened just enough to offer a solid, grounding warmth. The general did not even deign to glance at the whispering nobles; instead, his cold, lethal aura flared outward in a subtle wave, instantly suffocating the laughter around them until the surrounding guests fell dead silent and cleared a wide, frantic path toward the grand hall.
"Keep your head up," Xie Yan murmured, his voice a low, rumbling anchor that brushed right against Wen Yu’s ear as they stepped through the massive, gilded arched entryway of the Grand Reception Pavilion. "You are not here to seek their approval. You are here as my spouse."
"I... I am trying, General," Wen Yu whimpered softly, clutching Xie Yan’s heavy sleeve with delicate, trembling fingers while looking up with wide, shimmering eyes. "It is just... everyone is staring so intensely. I fear I am bringing shame to your noble presence simply by standing beside you."
[Keep staring, you aristocratic vultures!] Wen Yu added in his mental broadcast, his internal voice practically cackling with chaotic energy. [I am taking names and writing down every single face for my future revenge arc! The second we sit down, I am going to eat every single high-calorie pastry on the Emperor’s private buffet table and make your collective budget allocations look like pocket change!]
A deep, chest-rumbling laugh vibrated silently against Xie Yan’s broad ribs as he led his husband into the glittering expanse of the main banqueting hall.
The pavilion was an overwhelming spectacle of grand imperial power. Massive red-and-gold columns stretched toward a vaulted ceiling carved with swirling cloud motifs, while hundreds of polished brass lamps cast a brilliant, blinding light across the sea of seated dignitaries. At the far end of the hall, seated on elevated, velvet-draped platforms, sat the senior members of the imperial family—including the Imperial Consort herself, a woman clad in blinding crimson phoenix robes, her eyes as cold and calculating as polished jade.
"Supreme General Xie," announced the grand palace herald, his voice echoing over the hushed chamber as they reached their assigned floor-seating station near the head of the hall. "And... Consort Wen."
The subtle pause before his name was a deliberate, petty slight, but Wen Yu ignored it completely as he sank gracefully onto his knees beside Xie Yan’s low table, smoothing his trailing plum silk sleeves over his lap like a seasoned courtier.
Before they could even settle into their seats, a sleek, young nobleman seated at the neighboring table leaned across the silk divider. It was Lord Gu, the youngest son of the Minister of Finance, known throughout the capital for his arrogant tongue and unearned entitlement.
"A rare sight indeed, General," Lord Gu purred, his voice dripping with condescending sweetness as he poured himself a cup of spiced plum wine. "We were all so surprised to learn that you chose a spouse from... outside the registered noble genealogies. Tell me, Consort Wen, is it true that provincial households do not teach the classic seven arts? I only ask because the Imperial Consort is scheduled to call upon the new spouses for a live zither performance later tonight, and we would hate for you to feel... unprepared."
The surrounding tables went dead quiet as nearby nobles leaned in, eager to watch the low-born consort squirm under the trap.
Wen Yu blinked, letting his lower lip tremble with delicate, pathetic distress as he looked at Lord Gu. "A... a zither performance?" he stammered out, his voice small and terrified. "Oh dear... in the provincial kitchens, the only strings I ever touched were the ones used to tie up dried sausage bundles! I wouldn’t even know which end of the instrument to hold!"
[A zither performance?!] Wen Yu raged inside his head, his modern soul throwing hands in an imaginary boxing ring. [Are you serious right now?! The classic ’embarrass the protagonist with an impromptu musical performance’ trope?! I played first-chair classical guzheng in high school and spent four years analyzing ancient musical scores for historical webnovel accuracy! I will play a song so fast and complex that your fingers will cramp up just watching me, you pompous little nepotism baby!]
Xie Yan took a slow, leisurely sip from his bronze wine goblet, his dark eyes sparkling with a dark, dangerous mirth as he listened to the sheer, unhinged confidence roaring through the mental link. He set the goblet down with a soft, heavy clink that made Lord Gu flinch.
"My consort’s talents are for my private enjoyment, Lord Gu," Xie Yan stated smoothly, his voice laced with an absolute, crushing authority that made the younger noble pale instantly. "Though if the Imperial Consort requests a performance, I am certain Wen Yu will deliver something... entirely unforgettable."
Wen Yu cast a timid, grateful look toward his husband, dropping his head submissively. "I shall do my best not to ruin the Imperial Consort’s ears, General," he whispered softly.
[Oh, it will be unforgettable alright,] Wen Yu promised his internal audience, staring fixedly at the glittering golden zither sitting on the central performance stage with a wicked, unseen smirk. [Get ready, capital. You wanted a show from the scullery maid? I am about to burn this entire banquet hall down with a heavy-metal classical remix.]