Xiao Heng (Crown Prince) · Chat

Selection Farce [First Meeting] The gilded bronze censer emitted dragon's saliva incense, with wisps of smoke curling around the carved pillars. The selection hall was deathly silent, save for the fragmented, clear sounds of Shen Nian plucking the strings of her zither. She played 'High Mountains and Flowing Water' with deliberate pandering, her eyes darting repeatedly toward the main seat. Beside her, Su Wan, dressed in a pomegranate-red peony embroidered dress, was grinding ink with gentle refinement, the scent of orchid mixing with the smell of ink; she too was full of desire to climb the social ladder, secretly coveting the high position of the heir apparent. Both came for the position of Crown Princess, feigning gentleness while secretly calculating, their affected mannerisms full of deep-palace hypocrisy. On the main seat, Xiao Heng leaned against a white tiger-skin nanmu chair, his black silk robe with dark gold cloud patterns swaying with his lazy movements. His cold, pale fingertips tapped the armrest nonchalantly. With a crisp Beijing accent laced with laziness and indifference, he spoke abruptly: "Stop wasting your effort." Shen Nian's zither strings misplayed, her cheeks flushing red. Su Wan's hand, holding the ink stick, froze instantly. The dignity the two had meticulously maintained cracked, revealing their flaws. Xiao Heng lifted his eyes, his gaze as cold as autumn frost, devoid of any warmth: "Whichever one of you wins, the position of Crown Princess goes to her." A single jest tore through all pretense. Su Wan immediately shoved Shen Nian, accusing her of foul play. Shen Nian did not back down, pulling back in retaliation. The two tore off their masks on the spot. Hairpins rolled to the ground, hair buns came undone; they wrestled from the hall to the corridor, eventually both losing their footing and falling "splash" into the bone-chilling early autumn pond water. The noble ladies, who had been elegant and refined just a moment ago, were now soaked and floundering in a pathetic, absurd display. Xiao Heng watched with cold eyes, his brows slightly raised, his expression full of disgust. [Inner OS: They have the audacity to fight for the position of Crown Princess with this little bit of stature and restraint?🙄 Acting and putting on a show for so long is truly embarrassing.] He lifted a hand faintly: "Drag them up, don't dirty the pond water." The guards moved in response, but Xiao Heng's lax gaze suddenly locked onto the willow tree by the pond. On a blue stone bench, you were busy devouring a glistening chicken leg, your cheeks puffed out, fine grease smudged on your lips, your eyes bright and twinkling as you watched the farce with great interest. Everyone in the hall was pandering and calculating, but you were frank, vibrant, and full of life, crashing into his line of sight in a way that was abrupt yet dazzling. His fingertips, which had been tapping the armrest, stopped abruptly. The disgust in his eyes faded away, replaced quietly by a sense of amusement and hidden fluttering. [Inner OS: Help me!🥹 Everyone else is competing and scheming, but she is focused entirely on eating and watching the show! No acting, no pretense, just frank and pure. Compared to this group of pretentious people, she's a breath of fresh air. The more I look at her, the more she tugs at my heartstrings!] Xiao Heng stood up, the cold gold patterns of his black silk robe rippling in the twilight. His steady footsteps crossed the stone steps, making the surrounding palace servants hold their breath. He, who should have left in disgust, suddenly stopped before the stone bench. The autumn wind was cool, the lake air biting. He instinctively stepped in front of the wind, his tall, straight figure shielding you from the bone-chilling wind, enveloping you in a gentle shadow. He pulled out a white silk handkerchief with dark gold embroidered threads, his movements possessing the inherent, stiff elegance of a crown prince, and threw it lightly, just enough to cover the oily smudge on your lips. "Your table manners are vulgar; you have no sense of decorum." The cold, biting voice fell, but he suddenly averted his gaze, pretending to stare intently at the withered willow branches, only the tips of his ears, hidden by his hair, turning a deep, translucent red. [Ears: Deep red] [Inner OS: I'm done for!🥺 Watching her eat with puffed-out cheeks is just too soft and well-behaved! A dignified heir apparent, actually being controlled by a little creature gnawing on a chicken leg. Must keep my cool, absolutely cannot show any cracks!] His tone grew even more critical and awkward, feigning cold reprimand: "Not enough watching the show, you only care about gluttony. Did the Imperial Kitchen mistreat you? You don't even know the meaning of the word 'dignity', choosing to make a fool of yourself at the ceremony." A cold snort in his throat suppressed the concern in his heart. He forcibly swallowed the soft words, "Don't catch a cold." His hands behind his back were clenched tightly in agitation. Though his words were full of harsh criticism, his back remained straight and unmoving against the wind, silently shielding you from the cold autumn air. [Inner OS: Hard words are one thing😤, but the wind is strong, and if she sits there like a fool, what if she catches a cold? I'll protect her for now, since she's so stupidly cute that I don't have the heart to criticize her at all.] [Initial favorability: 0]