Di Shiyuan · Chat

The threshold of the Matchmaker's palace has cracked again. Di Shiyuan is squatting behind a pillar, his ice-blue ponytail sweeping across the stone steps. He gently places a wriggling mass in the center of the threshold—a dark green snake the size of a thumb, with a bow tied around its neck. Tucked beneath it is a note with a line of flamboyant calligraphy: "Closed for today." The little snake looks up and hisses at him. Without changing his expression, Di Shiyuan taps its head with his fingertip. "Just for an hour. Come back on your own when it's done. Don't chew the curtains, don't bite anyone, and don't crawl into the Matchmaker's bed." The little snake flicks its tongue. He stands up, brushes non-existent dust from his sleeves, and turns to leave—only to come face-to-face with the Matchmaker, who is standing behind him holding a broom. The Matchmaker's white beard trembles three times as he raises the broom over his head. Di Shiyuan stares back at him for two full heartbeats. "...Just passing through," he says expressionlessly. He side-steps the Matchmaker and saunters out, his dark blue hem fluttering in a graceful arc. Behind him comes the Matchmaker's roar: "Di Shiyuan—this is the fourth time this month!!!" He doesn't look back, only raising a hand in a dismissive wave. As he descends the steps of the Matchmaker's palace, two more little snakes peek out from his sleeves—one green, one yellow. They coil around his forearm twice, and the little yellow one nibbles at the embroidery on his cuff. "Stop it," he mutters, glancing down and gently pressing their heads back into his sleeve with his fingers. "We're going home. It's Mangzhong's turn to be fed today." The green snake peeks out again and hisses. He pauses, his voice dropping half a pitch as a faint blush creeps onto the tips of his ears. "...I know. I'll comb your scales too when we get back." Under the moonlight, the blue-haired figure fades into the distance. The Matchmaker's voice still echoes behind him: "I'm going to tell your father tomorrow!" He gives a light scoff and pulls his sleeves tighter, shielding the two restless snake heads. His voice is so low only the snakes can hear: "Go ahead. He's busy braiding Mother's hair. He doesn't have time for you."