Before Wen Yu could even gather the folds of his stiff plum-colored sleeves to stand up for the Imperial Consort’s requested zither performance, the smooth, gliding rhythm of the surrounding banquet was disrupted by a shadow crossing their table.
"Ah. What a truly breathtaking sight."
The voice was silky, smooth, and dripping with a layer of refined, aristocratic malice so heavy it could choke a freshwater carp.
Wen Yu paused mid-movement, leaning back down onto his goose-down cushion with a look of delicate, wide-eyed confusion. Standing beside their rosewood table was a tall young nobleman who looked as though he had stepped straight off the cover of a high-budget historical drama scroll.
He wore immaculate white-and-silver silk robes embroidered with twisting silver serpents, a lush silver-fox fur collar draped over his broad shoulders, and an aristocratic smile plastered across a remarkably sharp-jawed, handsome face.
[Oh, look,] Wen Yu groaned instantly inside his head, his mental voice echoing directly across the telepathic link with unhinged clarity. [It’s the mandatory second-lead arch-rival! The arrogant, silver-tongued aristocrat who probably spent the last three years calculating his marriage dowry and imagining himself as the general’s politically advantageous spouse before my sudden, highly scandalous transmigration ruined his entire life plan!]
Xie Yan’s expression froze, the temperature surrounding their table dropping into sub-zero winter frost. "Marquis Vane," the general greeted, his tone flat, dangerous, and completely devoid of courtly warmth. "You are standing directly in our light."
Marquis Vane let out a light, musical chuckle behind a gloved hand, completely ignoring the murderous alpha aura radiating across the low table. His dark eyes flicked over to Wen Yu, sparkling with thinly veiled contempt disguised as polite interest.
"Forgive me, General. I was merely blinded by the sheer novelty of your evening companion," Marquis Vane purred smoothly, dipping his head in a mock-reverent bow that lacked any real deferential weight. He turned his full, predatory attention to Wen Yu, his smile sharpening. "And you must be the famous domestic talent from the outer provinces. Truly, the capital has been buzzing with sweet tales of your... unique household skill set. How remarkably brave of you to step out of the scullery and straight into the imperial palace."
Wen Yu maintained an absolutely serene, blank smile on the outside. He tilted his head with an air of vacant, innocent confusion, looking for all the world like a sheltered provincial omega who didn’t fully grasp high-society sarcasm.
"You honor this humble one with your attention, Marquis," Wen Yu murmured in a soft, breathy whisper, keeping his eyes demurely cast down. "I am merely fortunate that the General’s patience is as vast as his noble mercy."
Inside his head, however, an inferno of pure, unadulterated editorial rage ignited.
[Brave?! Scullery talent?!] Wen Yu shrieked internally, his mental red pen furiously slashing across an imaginary revision document. [Listen here, you walking silver-fox pelt! If you drop one more passive-aggressive metaphor about my cleaning background, I am going to take that ridiculously expensive fur collar of yours, marinate it in spicy northern chili oil, and feed it directly to the garrison guard dogs! You look like a villainous plastic surgery experiment from a low-budget web adaptation, and your silver serpent embroidery looks like a toddler drew it with a broken crayon! I have edited three hundred thousand words of bitter rival character arcs, and your dialogue is so cliché it wouldn’t even pass a first-round slush pile review!]
Sitting right beside him, Xie Yan felt a sudden, violent twitch seize his jaw as he fought down a massive wave of inappropriate laughter. The contrast between his spouse’s fragile, bowing posture and the absolute carnage happening in his internal monologue was so jarring that it took every ounce of the general’s legendary discipline to keep his face carved from military ice.
"The Marquis was simply offering a welcome, Consort Wen," Xie Yan stated smoothly, his deep voice carrying a low rumble as he reached out beneath the silk table runner. His calloused fingers slid firmly around Wen Yu’s wrist, his thumb rubbing small, grounding circles against the younger boy’s rapid pulse. "Though I believe his own domestic affairs require far more urgent attention tonight."
Marquis Vane’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes narrowing as he caught the subtle, protective gesture between the two men. "My estate management is hardly a matter of public concern, General," Vane recovered swiftly, his voice sharpening into a thin, venomous hiss as he stepped an inch closer to the table. "Though I suppose a domestic servant wouldn’t understand the complex intricacies of noble bloodlines. After all, a common sparrow may perch on a golden branch for a evening, but it will never truly belong in the high clouds. Be careful not to fall, Consort Wen. The drop from the general’s favor is notoriously fatal."
Wen Yu blinked slowly, keeping his wide, innocent eyes locked onto the marquis while letting out a fragile, trembling sigh that made him look like a delicate lily buffeted by a harsh winter breeze.
"A sparrow in the high clouds is indeed a fragile thing, Marquis," Wen Yu replied softly, his voice trembling with tragic, beautiful humility. "Yet, how strange it is that even the highest-flying birds eventually have to look down at the cold dirt. Isn’t that right? You seem remarkably familiar with the ground."
[Oh, you want to play poetry and bird metaphors?] Wen Yu fumed happily in his own head, practically doing a victory lap around his internal boxing ring. [I will give you a bird metaphor, you over-glorified, silver-plated pigeon! You thought you could come over here and flex your aristocratic vocabulary, but your family’s northern land grants have been hemorrhaging money for three fiscal quarters! I read the imperial ledger reports on Xie Yan’s desk last night! You’re operating on a freelance budget while trying to maintain a luxury front, and everybody in this hall knows your silver robes are leased on high-interest credit!]
Xie Yan took a slow, deliberate sip from his bronze wine goblet, using the heavy vessel to hide the broad, breathtaking smirk that broke across his features. The mental broadcast echoing through their bond was so detailed and utterly merciless that the general felt an overwhelming surge of fierce, dark pride for his sharp-tongued little consort.
"My spouse speaks the truth, Marquis Vane," Xie Yan said smoothly, setting his cup down with a sharp, heavy clink that echoed over the quiet tension of the neighboring tables. "It is always wise to remember the ground beneath one’s feet before lecturing others on how to fly."
Marquis Vane’s face turned a tight, strained shade of pale. He glared at the interlocking hands between the general and his consort, the bitter humiliation of being publicly out-maneuvered by a former maid burning like acid in his chest.
"Enjoy your temporary favor while it lasts, Consort Wen," Vane spat softly, dropping his polite courtly facade entirely as he leaned down. "The palace is full of sharp edges, and not even General Xie can shield a commoner from every trap set in the dark."
"I shall keep my eyes wide open, Marquis," Wen Yu whispered back sweetly, tilting his face up with a serene, radiant smile. "And I shall pray your silver fox collar keeps you warm when the northern frost hits your empty ledgers."
With a sharp, indignant sneer, Marquis Vane spun on his heel and swept away into the sea of silk robes, his silver-embroidered hem fluttering behind him like an angry snake.
As the rival vanished back into the crowd, Wen Yu let out a soft, breathy sigh, his serene expression remaining perfectly intact for the surrounding courtiers while his shoulders slumped just half an inch.
[Whew! That felt amazing!] Wen Yu cheered internally, leaning his weight subtly against Xie Yan’s broad shoulder under the pretense of adjusting his heavy sleeve. [That’s how we handle arrogant second-leads! No long-winded tragic backstory, no weeping in the corner, just pure, unadulterated financial facts dropped right on his pompous head!]
Xie Yan turned his head, looking down at Wen Yu with a gaze so heavy, warm, and completely besotted that the surrounding political tension of the banqueting hall seemed to evaporate entirely. He leaned in close, his dark eyes sparkling with dangerous mirth as his breath brushed against the shell of Wen Yu’s ear.
"Spicy chili oil, leased robes, and high-interest credit?" Xie Yan whispered softly, his low voice vibrating pleasantly through Wen Yu’s chest. "Where on earth did you learn such vicious rhetoric, Consort Wen?"
Wen Yu’s cheeks flushed a bright, burning crimson under the warm glow of the banquet lamps. He jerked his head back slightly, muttering into his raised cup of plum wine, "Just... old provincial folk tales, General. Just very detailed provincial folk tales."
"Is that so?" Xie Yan murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over Wen Yu’s knuckles once more before releasing his hand. "Then after you finish your zither performance, you must tell me more of these... northern financial stories. I find myself thoroughly entertained."
Wen Yu swallowed hard, looking toward the central performance stage where the massive jade zither sat waiting under the imperial spotlights.
[Right... the zither performance,] Wen Yu remembered, his internal bravado instantly shifting gears into tactical combat mode as he straightened his posture. [Time to go play classical guzheng like my high school music teacher’s career depends on it.]