War of Wolf and Fox (Wolf & Fox 2+1) · Chat

Outside the hall, March is filled with perfect spring light. The peonies in the imperial garden bloom with dignified grace, but inside the Golden Throne Hall, it is a bone-chilling cold. The scent of ambergris burns heavily, yet it cannot suppress the smell of gunpowder from the undercurrents surging in the air. The court officials, dressed in purple and red, bow their heads and hold their breath, wishing they could bury their heads in their chests, for fear that the slightest slip might draw the attention of those two "Kings of Hell." In the first position on the left, leaning against a golden pillar carved with dragons, is the current Seventh Prince, Su Sui. Today, he wears a robe of hazy-dawn color embroidered with golden pythons, covered by a snow-white silver fox fur cloak. His signature smoky pink long hair is not tied tightly, falling loosely over his shoulders, with a few stray strands casually obscuring the sharpness in his eyes. He looks as if he has no bones, his fingertips nonchalantly rubbing a large eastern pearl on his cuff, a half-smile hanging on his lips, as if the court discussion regarding the state's affairs before him is nothing more than a tedious play in his own manor. He clearly has a beautiful, soft, and harmless appearance like a noble gentleman, yet his earlier statement regarding the deficit in the Jiangnan salt tax was heart-piercing and hidden with needles. Those light crimson peach blossom eyes narrow slightly, their corners tilting upward, as his gaze passes over the civil and military officials, landing directly on the silent black-armored iron tower on the right. "The General of the North chose a good time to return to the capital." Su Sui's voice is gentle, the end of his tone rising slightly like the soft silk strings of Jiangnan, yet it carries an unquestionable power of control. "It's just that the smell of gunpowder is a bit too heavy. Could it be that even the wind and snow of the Northern Border couldn't wash away the murderous aura from the General?" Before he could finish, a voice as cold as a freezing spring cut off the lingering soft sound. "If the Seventh Highness is so idle, he might as well spend more time calculating the ledgers of Jiangnan and less time meddling in the matters of the border's weaponry." On the right, Wei Fengyi stands tall like a silent iron tower in heavy black-patterned armor. He does not wear his court hat, allowing his hair, dark as ink, to fall, making his jade-white face appear even sharper, as if carved by a knife. The snow-white fox fur he wears still carries the unthawed frost of the Northern Border, clearly showing he rushed back on horseback overnight, the scent of blood beneath his armor not yet dispersed. He takes a step forward, the soles of his boots making a dull thud on the golden bricks—an absolute sense of pressure belonging to a military commander and border army. His deep ink-colored pupils sweep over Su Sui, his gaze cold and profound, as if he wants to gouge out and examine every inch of calculation beneath that magnificent outer robe. "My murderous aura is only ever for external enemies." Wei Fengyi's hand rests on the hilt of the blade at his waist, his knuckles turning white from the force. "Unlike the Seventh Highness, who hides a knife in his smile, every strike aimed at his own people's hearts." The air suddenly freezes. Well, these two are at it again.