"If you continue leaning your face that close to mine, General, I am going to have to file an emergency workplace harassment report with the imperial labor board," Wen Yu muttered, his voice muffled against the thick black fur collar of Xie Yan’s heavy mantle as the grand carriage jolted smoothly over the paved palace road.
Inside the quiet, dim interior of the wooden carriage, the ambient heat was suffocating. Xie Yan sat dangerously close on the cushioned leather bench, one of his long, calloused arms draped over the backrest behind Wen Yu’s shoulders. The crisp, overwhelming scent of mountain pine and cold cedarwood radiated off the general in warm, heavy waves, completely surrounding the smaller boy.
"The imperial labor board has no jurisdiction inside my carriage, Consort Wen," Xie Yan murmured in a low, teasing rumble, leaning down until his dark eyes caught the faint moonlight filtering through the silk window curtains. His free hand reached out, his warm thumb gently tracing the curve of Wen Yu’s lower lip with unbearable, deliberate slowness. "And after that spectacular zither performance, I believe your Supreme General is entitled to a private victory celebration."
[Wait, wait, wait!] Wen Yu’s mind went into an absolute, unhinged tailspin, his internal broadcast screaming at top volume straight into Xie Yan’s head. [Why is he leaning in?! Is he actually going for a full-on romance trope kiss right now?! My heart is pounding like a bass speaker at a live concert! If he presses his lips against mine, my modern editor soul is going to experience a complete system reboot!]
Wen Yu’s cheeks flushed a bright, scalding crimson that extended all the way to the tips of his delicate ears. He bit his lower lip hard, his wide, shimmering eyes darting frantically toward the carriage door while his breath hitched in his throat.
Xie Yan paused mid-movement, his face mere inches from Wen Yu’s flushed skin. He took in the furious, adorable blush spreading across his consort’s face and listened to the absolute chaotic static crashing through their telepathic bond. A low, rich laugh bubbled up in the general’s chest, and he reluctantly pulled back an inch, resting his forehead lightly against Wen Yu’s temple instead.
"You look as though you are about to burst into flames, my little consort," Xie Yan whispered, his thumb giving Wen Yu’s warm cheek a parting, affectionate stroke before he settled back against his seat. "I shall grant you a temporary reprieve for tonight. But do not think you can hide behind your provincial stories forever."
Wen Yu let out a long, shuddering gasp of air, clutching the heavy fur mantle tightly around his chest as he slumped back into his corner.
[Thank goodness,] Wen Yu panted mentally, doing a dramatic internal collapse onto a couch. [My cardiovascular health cannot handle this level of male lead tension on an empty stomach. I need ten hours of uninterrupted sleep and three plates of fried buns before we attempt any more romantic plot points.]
The peace of the general’s estate, however, was violently shattered the very next morning before the sun had even fully cleared the eastern horizon.
Wen Yu was dragged out of his comfortable goose-down bed by three frantic household servants, bathed in tepid flower water, and shoved into a stiff, high-collared blue morning robe that felt like it had been starched with industrial glue. By the time he dragged his feet down to the main reception hall, a tall, ancient man with a face like a dried plum and a beard so long it nearly touched his belt was already standing in the center of the room.
The man held a thick wooden ruler under his arm, his cold eyes scanning Wen Yu with absolute, unfiltered disgust.
"So this is the commoner servant who dares to hold the title of Supreme General’s consort," Grand Tutor Lin sneered, his tone dropping like heavy iron weights onto the cold flagstones. He was the most notoriously strict, humorless instructor from the Imperial Academy, commissioned specifically by the hostile court nobility with the explicit approval of the Imperial Consort to break Wen Yu’s spirit through grueling aristocratic drills.
"This humble one greets the Grand Tutor," Wen Yu stammered out loud, pitching his voice into his fragile, submissive register while bowing his head low.
[Oh, fantastic,] Wen Yu groaned internally, his mental pen furiously circling the old man’s entire existence in red ink. [The snobbish nobility sent a professional hazing instructor to ruin my morning! Look at his sour face! He looks like an unedited first-draft manuscript that just received fifty consecutive rejection letters from major publishing houses!]
Standing by the doorway in his dark military armor, Xie Yan observed the scene with a unreadable, stoic expression. The Imperial Consort had officially backed Tutor Lin’s appointment under the guise of "elevating the household’s courtly standards," leaving the general with little choice but to allow the initial lesson to proceed without public interference.
"General Xie," Tutor Lin said, turning his stiff body toward the door and bowing with superficial respect. "I assure you, within three weeks of my rigorous discipline, even a provincial scullery servant can be beaten into an acceptable shape for court etiquette."
"Do as you must, Tutor Lin," Xie Yan replied smoothly, though his dark eyes flicked over to Wen Yu with a subtle, reassuring gleam. "However, I advise you to remember that Consort Wen is the master of this estate. Touch him with that wooden ruler, and you will find your teaching contract permanently canceled."
With a low, sweeping turn of his cape, Xie Yan exited the hall to handle his morning garrison duties, leaving Wen Yu entirely at the mercy of the imperial court’s worst disciplinarian.
"We shall begin with your posture!" Tutor Lin barked the moment the general was out of earshot, slamming three massive, stone-bound volumes of ancient imperial history onto a wooden table. "A proper consort does not walk like a peasant carrying water buckets! Stack these three texts upon your head, clasp your hands behind your lower back, and complete fifty laps around this hall in the slow, ceremonial court pace!"
Wen Yu stared at the heavy, leather-bound books, which weighed at least eight pounds combined.
[Fifty laps?!] Wen Yu shrieked inside his head, his internal persona throwing a massive temper tantrum. [Is this court etiquette training or an extreme cross-fit boot camp?! My neck vertebrae are going to be compressed into dust! If I knew transmigrating into a BL novel involved physical labor this intense, I would have stayed in my editorial cubicle approving cliche werewolf romances!]