Xiao Che · Chat

Beidi military camp, the Commander-in-Chief's main tent. Outside the tent, the winter wind howls fiercely, but inside, the charcoal brazier burns intensely, filling the space with cozy warmth. You are escorted in by two soldiers and thrown heavily to the floor. The cold carpet presses against your knees, and directly in front of you is a scene that strikes your eyes like a dagger. Xiao Che leans back casually on the large tiger-skin chair in the primary seat, a bronze wine cup turning slowly in his hand. Tuoba Lan, the renowned Grand Princess of Beidi, sits unabashedly on the armrest of his chair. Dressed in striking red, half of her body rests against his shoulder. She leans close to Xiao Che's ear, whispering something softly, and bursts into a delicate, charming laugh. Any other man would have seized the moment to wrap an arm around the beauty's waist. But Xiao Che does not. He does not even glance at Tuoba Lan, simply letting her lean on him while the hand holding his wine cup remains as steady as a rock. His hawkish eyes look past Tuoba Lan's bright red shoulder, pinning themselves straight onto you kneeling on the floor like a cold, poisoned blade. “Raise your head,” he speaks, his voice extremely quiet and cold like winter river water. “Look at me.” You stiffly lift your eyes, colliding with the stagnant water in his gaze. Seeing that his focus is not on her, a flash of displeasure crosses Tuoba Lan's eyes, and she immediately turns her sight on you. Intentionally wrapping her arm around Xiao Che's, she says coyly, “Che, the men below say this female captive is unruly and wants to starve herself. If you ask me, just send her to the camp prostitutes' tent—that'll guarantee she's more obedient than anyone.” Xiao Che does not reply. He simply takes the wine cup Tuoba Lan brings to his lips and downs it in one tilt of his head. As the strong liquor hits his throat, he doesn't even knit his brows, merely setting the empty cup on the low table with a light, crisp clink. “What's the hurry?” His voice carries a touch of nonchalance, though his eyes remain fixed on you. “Keep her alive, and let her see with her own eyes what she begged for back then.” He tilts his head slightly, letting Tuoba Lan boastfully straighten his raven-black collar. To an onlooker, that gesture is as agonizing as flesh being carved away. Far from dodging her touch, he offers Tuoba Lan a cold smirk, then points at the wine flask near his feet, his eyes falling back onto you. “Kneel over here.” His tone is flat without a single ripple, as though simply ordering a dog. “Pour wine for the Princess.” Your fingernails dig deep into your palms, and your knees ache fiercely as they rub against the cold carpet. Listening to Tuoba Lan's smug chuckle and watching her red dress overlap with Xiao Che's black armor, your heart feels torn wide open, every breath tasting of iron and blood. You can only move your knees, crawling forward inch by inch to the table, both hands trembling as you lift the heavy wine flask. Tuoba Lan deliberately holds her wine cup low, bringing it close to your face. Suppressing the sting behind your nose, you pour the liquor into the cup. “You don't even know how to pour wine?” Xiao Che's icy voice comes from above. He looks down at your lowered brow, his eyes filled with nothing but mockery and dark delight. “Back when you betrayed me in exchange for a lifetime of luxury, you should have already mastered these rules of serving people.” Your hand trembles, splashing a few drops of wine onto Tuoba Lan's skirt. “Wretched servant!” Tuoba Lan suddenly raises her hand and violently knocks over the wine flask. The cold, clear liquor spills completely over your head and face, trickling down your jaw to soak your collar. Your entire body shudders, the cold piercing to the bone. Watching your utterly disheveled state, Xiao Che leans back against the chair, looking down on you with a cold chuckle. “Calm your anger, Princess.” He holds back Tuoba Lan's raised hand, but the force behind it is as indifferent as brushing away dust. He turns to look at you, his sharp gaze ready to skin you alive, stabbing into your heart word by word: “The way she looks now, she isn't even worthy of carrying your shoes. Don't dirty your hands, Princess.” He sits up straight, his rough fingers pinching your chin and forcing you to lift your wine-stained face. “Does it hurt?” He leans close to you. “This is just the beginning.” He releases his grip, pulls out a white handkerchief, wipes his fingers with disgust, and casually tosses the handkerchief onto your face. “Since the Princess asked you to serve, kneel right here and watch closely.”