Helian Ge · chat.title

The carriage wheels ground over broken stones, jolting so violently it felt as though every bone was coming apart. Jiang Yao shrank into the deepest corner of the carriage, clutching a hand warmer tight against his chest. But the charcoal inside had died long ago; it was as cold as iron. The luxurious Central Plains silk on his body offered no defense against the bitter frost of this desolate wasteland, turning his lips a frozen violet. Yet what was colder than his flesh was his heart. He was the most doted-upon legitimate young master of a prince with an alternate surname in the Central Plains—when had he ever endured such indignity? But the dog Emperor, wary of the Jiang family's military authority, had issued a single decree forcibly styling him a "male bride of diplomatic marriage" and stuffing him into this carriage. What brought him the deepest humiliation was that he was not alone in this compartment. Across from him sat three stunning dancing girls, and beside them huddled two delicate-featured actors. Dressed in flashy, flamboyant attire, they gave off the heavy scent of cheap rouge and powder, turning Jiang Yao's stomach again and again. "What right does he have to lump me together with people like this?" Jiang Yao ground his teeth, the rims of his eyes reddening from fury and grievance. He had thought himself the sole sacrifice, the royal pawn—only to find that old Emperor had discarded him like a beggar, packing him off alongside a clutch of lowly playthings. From outside the carriage came the envoy's impatient shout: "All of you, pull yourselves together! We'll reach the Northern Di royal tent shortly. Let this be your warning: that Great King is a living King of Hell who kills without batting an eye. If anyone angers him and ends up chopped to pieces to feed the wolves, don't blame me for not telling you!" Soft sobs immediately broke out in the carriage, several dancing girls trembling in terror as they clung to each other. Jiang Yao's heart plummeted. He had naturally heard of Helian Ge's terrifying repute—a man who had clawed his way to the throne atop mountains of corpses and seas of blood. Rumors claimed he was cruel and explosive, prone to skinning people alive on a whim. The carriage came to an abrupt halt. The thick felt curtain was roughly shoved aside, and bone-chilling wind surged in. "Get out, all of you! The Great King is inspecting the goods himself!" barked a soldier outside. Jiang Yao took a deep breath, forcing himself onto weak, trembling legs. He was afraid, yes, but more than that, he was disgusted. Still, he told himself that even if he were to die, he would never weep and blubber like this lot, dragging the Jiang family name through the dirt. Wrapping his silks tightly around himself, he followed the line, his footing unsteady as he trudged into that massive royal yurt. The air inside was thick with the pungent stench of mare's milk wine and raw meat. Coarse animal pelts covered the ground. Jiang Yao was forced down alongside the rest, kneeling in sheer humiliation. Upon the high seat, Helian Ge wore dark, form-fitting riding gear, casually turning a razor-sharp dagger in his hands. Eyes as vicious and untamed as a wolf's drifted over the row of kneeling figures. "Great King, these are the finest selections from the Central Plains..." the envoy offered with an obsequious smile. Helian Ge paid him no heed. Rising, he strode down the steps. Moving past the trembling women and youths, his gaze drifted until it came to a dead halt before Jiang Yao. Jiang Yao was biting down hard on his lower lip. Overcome by intense fury and sickening nausea, he couldn't stop himself from clamping a hand over his mouth, letting out a stifled dry heave. The entire tent fell into dead silence. The envoy collapsed to the floor in sheer terror. "What? Does my tent sicken you that much?" Helian Ge's voice was terrifyingly low. Jiang Yao started in fright, forced to lift his chin and meet those bottomless black eyes. Helian Ge stared down at the delicate, exquisite face, brow furrowed in revulsion, and his own gaze suddenly shifted—darkening into something profound and strange. He had merely intended to butcher a Central Plains native to set an example, but the instant he saw that face clearly, the fingers pinching Jiang Yao's chin tightened violently. It was him. Five years ago, amidst the heavy snow of the Central Plains imperial palace—the young master draped in a red fox-fur cloak, who had pressed warm pastries into the hands of a near-frozen hostage prince, saying in a soft, childish voice, "Don't cry anymore." Helian Ge's breath grew heavy for a single heartbeat. Looking at the young master trembling from fear and humiliation yet still glaring fiercely up at him, he suddenly let out a low chuckle. "Take the rest away," he commanded coldly, releasing his grip without glancing back. Cries and wails erupted across the tent. Soon enough, only the two of them remained. Helian Ge did not return to his throne. Instead, he leaned down, pressing forward with suffocating menace, his calloused thumb brushing across the corner of Jiang Yao's lips: "Those from the Central Plains, I want none of them. You—stay." <choice_group> <choice id="1">Jiang Yao recoils in fear: "Have you lost your mind? I'm not prettier than them, and I don't know how to serve anyone!"</choice> <choice id="2">Jiang Yao thinks this tyrant is entirely insane, forcing himself to say: "If the Great King keeps only me, aren't you afraid I'll assassinate you in the middle of the night?"</choice> <choice id="3">Jiang Yao's face stings from the rough graze of his finger; biting his lip, he jerks his head away: "Fine, I'll stay, but there's no way I'm living in a dump like this."</choice> </choice_group>