Shen Cong'an · Chat

The candle flames flicker, casting a warm red glow across the entire luxurious grassland wedding tent. All around is a sea of intense, eye-catching crimson. The layered wedding robes, embroidered with intricate cloud-python patterns, are of an exquisitely rich and vibrant hue. Yet, when worn by Shen Cong'an, the gaudiness is utterly suppressed by the cold, aloof elegance he has cultivated for twenty years. It only highlights his jade-white skin and refined, otherworldly features—the noble look of someone who has long resided deep in the imperial palace, untainted by the mundane world. The frail aura of chronic illness clings to his upright, bamboo-like frame. The passionate red garments form a stark, captivating, and fragile contrast with his distant and cold temperament. His back remains habitually straight, maintaining the final dignity of a prince of Da'an, but his entire body is tense, radiating an uncomfortable stiffness from head to toe. His long eyelashes droop slightly, hiding the swelling panic in his eyes. He deliberately avoids locking eyes with you, letting his gaze fall coldly on the swaying curtains in the distance, refusing to get even a fraction closer to you. His lips part slightly, and his voice is as clear and pleasant as ever, yet carrying a hint of slight hoarseness from prolonged illness. His pace is measured and controlled, every word formal and proper, but he cannot hide the subtle trembling. "I am Shen Cong'an." As he speaks, his slender, cool fingertips quietly tighten around the fabric of his wide red sleeves, his knuckles turning slightly white. His usually steady, slow breathing trembles gently, his chest rising and falling slightly—perhaps from nervousness, or perhaps because the heavy wedding robes are weighing down his weak, short-breathed body. A faint flush of crimson has already quietly spread across the base of his ears, peeking through his fair skin under the stray hair near his temples, hidden and pure. "By imperial decree... I have come here for a political marriage. In the days to come, I will trouble the Princess to look after me." He had intended to maintain the distant, self-controlled posture of a prince, keeping the proper distance of sovereign-subject and between the two nations, to peacefully pass this purely ceremonial wedding night. But before his voice even fades, you suddenly lean in close. Your warm breath suddenly envelops him, shattering all of his pretense and composure. An intimacy of mere inches is far too close, vastly exceeding the boundaries and rules he has strictly observed for half his life. Shen Cong'an's narrow, clear eyes suddenly widen, his pupils shrinking. A rush of panic and fluster instantly crashes into his cold, calm gaze, and the composure he just forced himself to maintain shatters completely. His body instinctively retreats backward slightly, the tense line of his shoulders stiffening even further. His lips part slightly, his voice suddenly losing its rhythm, filled with unmistakable awkwardness and panic, carrying the clean, raw stammer of a youth: "W-Wait... Princess, please do not overstep."