The grand imperial banqueting hall remained suspended in a delicate, crackling tension as the palace attendants made their final preparations near the raised central performance stage. The Imperial Consort sat high on her velvet platform, her cold jade eyes fixed directly on Wen Yu like a hawk eyeing a rabbit, while Marquis Vane lingered near the outer edge of the floor, nursing his bruised ego behind a fresh goblet of wine.
Wen Yu gathered the long, stiff folds of his dark plum silk robes, taking a slow, steady breath as he prepared to stand up from his cushion.
[Alright, modern webnovel editing instincts, don’t fail me now,] Wen Yu prayed silently, his internal broadcast streaming live into Xie Yan’s mind with frantic, high-speed energy. [I just need to walk across ten yards of polished jade floor, sit at that golden zither without ripping my sleeves, and play a standard classical piece. No dramatic falls, no ripped hems, and definitely no dropping into a tragic omega fainting spell. If I can survive four consecutive years of managing author deadlines on three hours of sleep, I can survive playing a glorified stringed harp in front of a room full of snobbish aristocrats.]
Xie Yan shifted slightly beside him, his dark eyes tracking every micro-expression on his husband’s face. The general reached out, his warm, heavy hand brushing against Wen Yu’s waist to assist him as he rose from the low rosewood table.
"Remember," Xie Yan murmured in a quiet, rumbling voice that barely reached past the rustle of their silk robes, "you owe no one in this hall a grand spectacle. Play whatever pleases you, and let them be grateful they were permitted to listen."
"I... I shall try my best, General," Wen Yu stammered softly out loud, pitching his voice into that delicate, breathy tone he reserved for public consumption. He cast his eyes down timidly, letting his eyelashes flutter like a frightened songbird. "I only hope my humble fingers do not strike a sour note and embarrass your noble house."
[Embarrass him?! Please, I spent three months mastering ’Ambush from Ten Sides’ just to flex on my college roommates during cultural talent week!] Wen Yu snorted mentally, his internal voice practically cackling. [I’m about to drop a tempo so aggressive it’s going to make Lord Gu’s fake hairpiece shake off!]
However, before Wen Yu could take his first step toward the central aisle, a young noble page carrying a silver service tray cut sharply across the pathway between the tables.
The page’s movements were suspiciously erratic. His eyes darted nervously toward Marquis Vane’s corner of the hall, his grip on the silver tray tightening until his knuckles turned white. Balanced precariously on the edge of his tray was a heavy brass chalice filled to the brim with dark, viscous blackberry wine—a notorious imperial brew known throughout the capital for permanently ruining fine silk with deep, indelible purple stains.
[Wait a second,] Wen Yu’s internal alarm system blared at maximum volume as his editor brain instantly identified the incoming plot device. [Clumsy servant walking past with dark liquid? Nerve-wracked eye contact with the antagonist? A completely unnatural wobble in his step right as he reaches my seating perimeter?! Oh, come on! This is the most overworked, overused, lazy webnovel trope in the entire Danmei library!]
Just as Wen Yu passed the edge of the adjacent rosewood table, the young page executed a dramatically exaggerated stumble.
"Ah! Oh no!" the page squealed in a high, theatrical panic, his foot catching on the absolute edge of an embroidered carpet runner. With an overly elaborate thrust of his upper body, he tipped the silver tray forward, sending the heavy chalice of dark blackberry wine flying straight through the air toward Wen Yu’s pristine, dark plum robes.
The surrounding noblewomen let out collective, breathless gasps of horror behind their fans. Marquis Vane leaned forward slightly, a cold, triumphant sneer curling the corner of his lips as he anticipated the public humiliation of the general’s commoner consort covered in sticky, ruined silk.
In that fraction of a second, time seemed to slow down for Wen Yu.
Having spent years reacting to coffee spills on unbacked manuscript drafts and dodging frantic commuters on wet subway platforms, his modern reflexes took over entirely. Instead of screaming, tripping over his heavy trailing hem, or freezing in pathetic terror like a proper background omega was supposed to, Wen Yu didn’t even blink.
With a fluid, breathtaking sweep of his body, Wen Yu dipped his right shoulder low, dropping into a deep, impossibly elegant courtly bow that allowed the flying stream of dark wine to pass harmlessly over his back. As the heavy brass chalice tumbled through the air, Wen Yu’s slender right hand shot out from beneath his wide sleeve. His wrist flicked with effortless precision, catching the stem of the falling chalice mid-air right side up.
Before a single drop of the deep purple liquid could splash onto the polished jade floor or his own garments, Wen Yu gracefully pivoted on his heel, smoothly extending his arm forward as he completed his deep, reverent bow toward the head of the hall.
The entire arc of motion was so seamlessly executed that it looked less like an accidental collision and more like a pre-rehearsed, ultra-refined ceremonial salutation.
Silence descended upon the banqueting hall.
The young page froze in mid-stumble, his mouth hanging open in absolute shock as he looked down at Wen Yu, who was currently holding the perfectly balanced chalice of wine in one steady, unblemished hand. Marquis Vane’s triumphant sneer shattered into a look of utterly baffled disbelief, while Lord Gu nearly choked on his own tongue.
"Oh dear," Wen Yu gasped softly out loud, raising his head with an expression of sweet, wide-eyed concern as he looked at the trembling page. "Are you uninjured, young master? The floor tiles in the capital are indeed remarkably slick. You must be far more careful when carrying such heavy imperial vintages."
[Nailed it!] Wen Yu screamed internally, his mental persona throwing its hands in the air like an Olympic gold medalist. [Catching a flying wine glass in a three-yard silk train without spilling a drop?! That is ten out of ten on execution! Put that in your petty political sabotage pipe and smoke it, Marquis Vane! My reaction time is forged in the fires of tight editorial deadlines and last-minute publication drops!]
Beside the table, Xie Yan didn’t even turn his head toward the flustered servant, but the atmosphere around the Supreme General shifted with violent, terrifying speed.
CRACK.
A sharp, deafening sound echoed across the immediate surrounding tables as Xie Yan set his own bronze wine goblet down onto the heavy rosewood table. The solid stone under his cup fractured, thin spiderweb cracks spreading across the polished wood surface.
An absolute, crushing wave of lethal alpha pressure erupted from the general in a silent, suffocating pulse. The air temperature near their table seemed to plunge instantly, heavy and suffocating like the calm before a military siege.
The surrounding courtiers turned pale, several young noblemen dropping their utensils in terror as Xie Yan’s cold, merciless dark eyes slowly locked onto the trembling page and then shifted directly across the room toward Marquis Vane. The general’s aura flared with a silent, murderous promise: Attempt one more trick, and you will not leave this palace alive.
"General..." the young page whimpered, his knees buckling under the sheer weight of Xie Yan’s killing intent as he collapsed onto the stone floor, shaking uncontrollably. "I... I beg for mercy! My foot merely slipped on the—"
"Silence," Xie Yan commanded, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying timbre that cut through the page’s excuse like a battle-blade through dry parchment. The general did not even look at the servant on the floor; his gaze remained fixed on Vane until the silver-robed marquis turned pale and hastily retreated deeper into the crowd. "Take your tray and remove yourself from my sight before I have the palace guards clear this floor permanently."
"Y-yes, Your Excellency! Thank you, Your Excellency!" the page squeaked out, scrambling backward on his hands and knees before practically sprinting out of the banqueting pavilion in sheer terror.
Wen Yu quietly set the chalice of dark wine down on the edge of the service table, smoothing down his plum silk sleeves with an effortless, serene composure.
"Thank you for your steady protection, General," Wen Yu whispered softly aloud, bowing his head toward Xie Yan with a delicate, dutiful smile.
[Whew, look at him flexing that top-tier warlord aura!] Wen Yu added in his unhinged internal broadcast, his mind practically swooning with chaotic appreciation. [That table crack was so dramatic! The general really knows how to command a room! If this were a serialized webnovel, the comment section would be absolutely exploding with ’Alpha King Supreme’ spam right now!]
Xie Yan bit down hard on his inner lip to keep his stoic mask from breaking, the lethal tension around his shoulders melting away the moment his husband’s colorful thoughts filled his consciousness once again. He reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently sliding over Wen Yu’s hand, giving his knuckles a firm, lingering squeeze.
"Go play your zither, my sharp little consort," Xie Yan whispered, his dark eyes burning with deep, intoxicating amusement and absolute pride. "And let us see if anyone else dares to interrupt your stage."