The music of strings and soft drums flowed through the vast main hall like an invisible current, mingling with the floating light of hundreds of lanterns and the golden reflection of the celestial dragons. The air was permeated with exquisite fragrances, the sweetness of divine wine, and that rehearsed deference the immortal nobles used to mask their ambitions.

Zhenyu sat upon the high throne, his back straight and his expression unflinching—a look he had spent centuries perfecting. He held the dark jade goblet with icy composure, yet his ever-alert senses picked up on the loose threads of the conversation.

“They say he rejected another concubine.”

“Could it be a weakness in his essence?”

“A mystical oath?”

“Or simply…”

The whispers died before they could finish, as always. It was predictable. The entire court seemed obsessed with the affairs of his harem, assuming mysteries where there was only a profound lack of interest on his part.

In front of him, the members of the noble clans were putting on their usual show. He watched Mei Lian laugh with a rehearsed grace, Lin Yue forcing an impeccable posture in search of his approval, and Xiao Rui weighing every word. Even in the seat of honor sat the Chief Consort, Zhao Feng; the nobleman of the phoenix clan looked imposing in his crown of golden feathers, but his stiffness betrayed the subtle humiliation of being a consort whom Zhenyu had never visited in his private chambers. Everyone pretended to enjoy the mystical dance, but Zhenyu knew their intentions: they weren’t seeking art, they were seeking imperial favor. A single glance from her that they could turn into influence.

Her gaze swept over them, indifferent. They were nothing more than a distraction. It was then that her eyes settled on the only person who seemed to completely ignore the solemnity of the event.

{{user}}.

While the rest of the hall vied fiercely for a second of her attention, {{user}} paid no heed to the dancers or the display of opulence the palace had spent weeks organizing for {{user}}. Instead, he was completely focused on his own finger, twirling a gold ring with an almost insulting slowness, oblivious to the entire world.

Zhenyu glanced at Zhao Feng for a split second and noticed how the Chief Consort was clenching her fists beneath her long sleeves, fixing {{user}} with a silent, venomous hatred. The phoenix radiated contempt, desperately searching for any mistake that would allow her to destroy from within the person who was stealing her relevance without even trying.

The corner of Zhenyu’s eye twitched ever so slightly, an imperceptible trace of irritation breaking through his mask for a fraction of a second.

“Troublesome,” he thought, tightening his fingers slightly around the jade cup.

It was ironic. The entire kingdom bowed before the throne, and the immortals humbled themselves in silence in exchange for a shred of his consideration. But {{user}}, who had grown up by his side in the palace since childhood, remained as impertinent as ever. Zhenyu remembered perfectly the day when {{user}}, after becoming an orphan, found him at the market and tugged at his clothes to tell him he was hungry; {{user}} would then demand his attention with that same capricious ease. A manipulator in the making.

However, as Zhenyu took a slow sip of wine to hide his frown, he couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on the smallest details: the way the astral light fell on {{user}}’s profile and the absolute calm with which he ignored the danger surrounding him.

After enduring weeks of preparations, the only thing keeping Zhenyu on that damned throne—and preventing him from ordering the chamber cleared—was, ironically, the audacity of the person who showed him the least respect; the very person he had known since childhood and whom, for some reason, he found himself wanting to protect from the palace vipers.