The morning sun hit the courtyard of the Supreme General’s estate with a blinding glare, bouncing off the polished stone paths and the sharp tips of halberds held by the patrolling guards.
Wen Yu stood near the grand lotus pond, trying very hard to look like a dignified imperial consort and failing spectacularly. The plum robes Xie Yan had chosen for him were gorgeous, draped in layers of heavy silk that pooled gracefully around his ankles, but they weighed a ton. Every time he tried to take a normal step, he felt like he was tangled in a very expensive fishing net.
"Consort Wen," a voice chimed out, crisp and flat.
Wen Yu turned to see Head Butler Zhao walking toward him, the picture of military precision with his graying hair pulled back into a severe knot and his dark robes unwrinkled and severe. Behind him stood two senior guards, their arms crossed over their heavy chest plates as they watched Wen Yu with the kind of clinical, assessing stares usually reserved for enemy prisoners of war.
"Butler Zhao," Wen Yu said, offering a polite, slightly stiff nod while keeping his hands neatly folded inside his wide sleeves to hide how hard they were shaking. "Good morning."
"The master has requested that you inspect the southern wing’s inventory before the imperial inspectors arrive tomorrow," Butler Zhao stated, his tone dripping with formal politeness. Not a single word of open disrespect crossed his lips, but the underlying message was loud and clear: they were dumping a complex task meant for a seasoned estate manager onto him, fully expecting him to drown in the logistics and humiliate himself before noon.
"The ledgers are on the grand oak desk in the study. Shall I have a junior servant assist you, or will you manage alone?"
Wen Yu swallowed hard, forcing a tight, submissive smile onto his face. "I can manage alone, Butler Zhao. There is no need to trouble the others with simple clerical work."
"As you wish," the butler replied, bowing his head just enough to be technically correct while showing zero warmth. "We would hate for a simple ledger to cause you undue stress so early in your tenure."
As Butler Zhao turned to leave, one of the senior guards—a broad-shouldered man named Chang—let out a sharp, dismissive huff. He didn’t even bother looking away as he muttered to his companion, "Give him three days. A scullery servant doesn’t even know how to balance grain taxes, so the general will be filing for an annulment by the end of the moon cycle."
Wen Yu’s chest tightened as he kept his eyes fixed on the stone path, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping back.
[Great. Just great. They are literally placing bets on my failure in surround sound. If they only knew how many chaotic freelance budgets I’ve balanced at three in the morning, they wouldn’t be so smug.]
"Is there an issue with your assignment, Guard Chang?"
The cold, low baritone cut through the courtyard like a blade of ice, instantly freezing the air around them.
Every guard snapped to attention instantly, their heels clicking together in unison while Butler Zhao stiffened, bowing deeply.
Xie Yan walked out from under the covered veranda, his dark combat boots making rhythmic, heavy thuds against the stone. He wore a high-collared black tunic with silver dragon embroidery along the cuffs, his dark hair pulled back into a sharp half-up style. His face was a mask of cold, unyielding authority, his dark eyes locked entirely on the senior guard.
Chang’s face paled instantly as he dropped to one knee, breaking out in a sudden cold sweat. "General! My apologies! I was merely—"
"You were speaking out of turn," Xie Yan interrupted softly, his voice dangerously smooth as he closed the distance between them. He didn’t even look down at the kneeling guard; instead, he walked straight past him and stopped right beside Wen Yu.
Before Wen Yu could blink, a large, warm hand settled firmly against the small of his back, pulling him effortlessly flush against the general’s broad side.
The heavy, clean scent of mountain pine washed over Wen Yu, instantly grounding his racing thoughts. He gasped softly, his face heating up as Xie Yan’s arm banded around his waist with an absolute, possessive certainty that left zero room for argument.
"My consort," Xie Yan said, his voice carrying clearly across the entire courtyard, "does not need your permission, your approval, or your domestic estimates to manage this household. If I find any member of my estate questioning his position again, you will find yourselves reassigned to the northern border patrols by nightfall."
"Understood, General!" Chang barked, pressing his forehead against the cold stone path with genuine fear shaking his voice. "Thank you for your mercy!"
"Dismissed," Xie Yan commanded flatly.
In less than three seconds, the courtyard cleared out as if a ghost had swept through. Butler Zhao bowed once more, stiff and tight-lipped, before retreating briskly down the hall.
Wen Yu stood frozen against the general’s side, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
[He just publicly backed me up like a mafia boss protecting his turf! Why is my fictional nemesis suddenly acting like a doting husband? Is this still part of the political act, or did my brain short-circuit completely?]
Deep behind his stoic, terrifying expression, Xie Yan listened to every single panicked, fluttering thought echoing straight into his mind. He felt the exact moment his husband’s pulse spiked against his forearm, a faint, amused twitch pulling at the corner of his mouth before he masked it completely.
"You are shaking, Wen Yu," Xie Yan murmured, his hand lingering against the small of Wen Yu’s back as he turned the smaller man away from the courtyard and toward the quiet shade of the veranda. "Did the guard’s idle gossip frighten you that much?"
"Of course not, General," Wen Yu squeaked out, trying to step back to put a respectful distance between them, only to find Xie Yan’s arm holding him firmly in place. "I am... deeply grateful for your timely intervention. It shows great leadership."
"Leadership," Xie Yan repeated dryly, a low rumble vibrating in his chest as they stepped out of sight of the remaining sentries. "Is that what you call it when your husband keeps you from being eaten alive by his own staff?"
Wen Yu’s face burned. He kept his eyes glued to the silver embroidery on Xie Yan’s collar, trying to maintain the fragile illusion of a meek, terrified omega spouse. He dropped his shoulders, rounded his back slightly, and pitched his voice into a trembling, fragile whisper. "This humble one understands his place, sir. I will work hard to ensure the estate runs smoothly and—"
"Stop," Xie Yan interrupted, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he halted their walk.
Wen Yu blinked, snapping out of his posture. "Pardon?"
"Your spine," Xie Yan said, his gaze sweeping over Wen Yu with clinical disapproval. "Are you attempting to mimic a hunchback, or is your spine genuinely failing you? You look like a snapped willow branch."
Wen Yu’s mouth dropped open. "A... a snapped willow branch?"
[Did he seriously just roast my posture?! After I spent ten solid minutes trying to look like a submissive ancient spouse?!]
"I am merely... trying to look respectful," Wen Yu muttered, his defensive modern instincts temporarily overriding his terror as he straightened up with an indignant huff.
"Respect does not require you to contort your body into unnatural angles," Xie Yan replied smoothly, stepping in closer until Wen Yu had to tilt his head back just to meet his gaze. A faint, dangerous smirk played at the edge of the general’s lips. "If you continue to walk around my estate slouching like a criminal caught in the act, people will think I am beating you."
"Nobody would ever think that!" Wen Yu hissed, his hands flying up defensively before he remembered he was supposed to be terrified. He quickly dropped them back into his wide sleeves, coughing softly. "I mean... of course not, General. Your reputation for honor is spotless."
Xie Yan let out a low, rich chuckle, the sound wrapping warmly around the quiet corridor. He reached out, his calloused fingers lightly brushing against Wen Yu’s shoulder, shifting the heavy silk robes until they hung correctly over his narrow frame.
"Come," Xie Yan said softly, his voice dropping an octave as his thumb lingered for a fraction of a second against the collar of Wen Yu’s tunic. "The ledgers await in the study. And if Butler Zhao or any of the guards give you trouble while you review them, you have my explicit permission to let out your frustration directly to me."
Wen Yu swallowed hard, his modern brain completely short-circuiting against the lethal combination of the general’s face, his pine scent, and the terrifying realization that he was entirely at this man’s mercy.
"I will keep that in mind, General," Wen Yu managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.
[God help me,] Wen Yu screamed internally, following the tall alpha down the shaded corridor. [He’s gorgeous, he’s powerful, and he knows exactly how to push every single one of my buttons!]