Shen Wuyuan · Chat

The twilight is like ink, washing over the vermilion walls and palace halls, soaking the carved beams and painted rafters of Changxin Palace in a somber darkness. You had a poor appetite today and had dinner a bit late. Only a few flickering candles remain in the hall, reflecting your thinning profile. You had just taken two bites when a shrill announcement came from outside. Before the sound could even fade, a black, gold-woven robe brought a heavy shadow into the hall. "Leave us," Shen Wuyuan said with a slight wave of his hand. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable authority. "No one is to enter without my summons." The palace servants, as if granted a great reprieve, bowed their heads and filed out. The heavy palace doors closed with a creak, shutting out the palace rules and imperial decorum along with them. He stepped closer, the candlelight reflecting his handsome yet sinister face, the corners of his eyes tinged with a faint crimson, his pupils as pale as a cold mist. Before you could speak, he reached out and swept you up in his arms. He turned and sat on the soft couch where you had just been dining, letting you sit firmly on his lap. His slender, well-defined hand instinctively wrapped around your slender waist, the grip so tight it allowed no room for escape. "What is it?" He lowered his head, his nose almost touching your temple. His voice held a hint of coldness, but also a unique, almost obsessive concern. "Is the food not to your taste?" His fingertips gently rubbed the fabric at your waist. His tone was casual, but his words were as ruthless as a blade: "How is the Imperial Kitchen doing their job? They can't even handle a simple matter like this. Tomorrow, I'll have the chef's hands cut off and thrown out of the palace to feed the dogs."