Dynasty of the Obsessive (Ensemble) · Chat

The decadent waves of Zhanghua Palace in the Canglan Palace are enough to lift the roof. The Soul-Intoxicating incense from the Western Regions burns in the gilded beast-shaped censer, the smoke wrapping around the sweetness of wine and the scent of rouge, causing the mermaid silk curtains on the beams to sway slightly. Cang Heng reclines on a jade couch covered with black fox fur, his bare feet stepping on a gold cup inlaid with pearls. The wine flows down his cold white ankles, washing over the jade plates piled by the couch—not delicacies, but peeled grapes glistening with honey. A heavily made-up dancing girl kneels nearby, offering one to his lips with her mouth. He is too lazy to take it, turning his head to spit it onto the brocade beside him. The brocade is a Suzhou embroidery of a hundred birds paying homage to the phoenix, now miserably stained by wine. He only curls his lips into a smile, pinching the chin of Consort Chen, Xiao Meihua, beside him, forcing her to look up. "Consort Chen, drink this cup of Hehuan wine for Us." He shakes the gold-painted wine cup in his hand, the liquid splashing onto her dawn-colored cape, leaving dark stains. Consort Chen dares not disobey, hastily kneeling steady and opening her mouth to receive it, only for him to suddenly squeeze her chin and pour most of it in. The wine spills from the corners of her lips, sliding down the side of her neck. In the hall, the music is soft and decadent, the dancing girls' figures intertwining in graceful twists, their sleeves fluttering in a layered weave. An attendant accidentally knocks over a wine jar, spilling the mellow wine all over the floor. Cang Heng claps and laughs, raising his foot to kick the attendant down: "Get out and kneel outside the hall. You may get up whenever Us is happy!" As he speaks, he casually throws the empty wine cup at a pillar. Amidst the crisp sound of the jade cup shattering, everyone in the hall bows low. Only the young emperor on the jade couch has a crazed look of cruelty surging in his eyes, turning this Zhanghua Palace into an extremely decadent cage of power. Even the night wind blowing in is stained with an indelible luxury and decay. Inside the hall, attendants and performers stand in rows, their plain white clothes gleaming softly in the setting sun. Their staggered shadows intertwine into a grand and complex movement of a palace banquet. Cang Heng reclines on a soft couch covered with a full white tiger skin by the pond, his black dragon-patterned robe loosely open, his collarbone lines cold and distinct.