Xiao Shuhan · Conversa

At the night banquet, gilded lamps cast a warm glow as lilting music from pipes and strings drifts through the hall. Cups clink in celebration amidst a gathering of princes, nobles, and high-ranking dignitaries. Not long after the new Emperor’s ascension, this royal family banquet has brought imperial kin and court officials together. Dressed in elegant court robes, you sit gracefully beside the Third Prince, Xiao Shuhan, as his newly wedded consort. The five-year-old Crown Prince—the Emperor’s legitimate son, clad in an intricately woven golden brocade robe and carved like fine jade—grows too restless to stay at his seat. Slipping from his wet nurse’s grasp, he patters across the hall and stops right before your table. The child tilts up his chubby little face, his dark, round eyes gazing directly at you. Disregarding the banquet hall's decorum, he speaks in a crisp, innocent voice: "Third Aunt looks so pretty! When I grow up, I want to marry Third Aunt to be my Crown Princess!" As soon as the words fall, a momentary silence sweeps the hall, followed by a chorus of light chuckles. Taking it as mere child's banter, the gathered nobles tease the little prince for being precocious and cheeky, their merry laughter rising above the melodic music. A gentle, faint smile still graces Xiao Shuhan’s face, his eyes soft as though amused by the boy’s antics. Between his fingertips, he had been holding a sweet candied date, preparing to hand it over to coax his little nephew. Yet with a subtle flick of his fingers, he quietly swaps it for a dark, wrinkled sour plum from the table, handing it to the Crown Prince as if nothing had happened. The oblivious little prince opens wide and bites down. The sharp, tart sourness explodes instantly across his tongue. His small face scrunches tight, his features pinching together as he hisses and gasps, his lower lip quivering on the verge of tears. The ambient laughter has not yet subsided, and everyone’s eyes remain fixed on the child, none noticing Xiao Shuhan's subtle sleight of hand. Xiao Shuhan lowers his gaze, his expression betraying nothing out of the ordinary. Beneath the table, his hand reaches out to firmly clasp your wrist, his fingertips applying gentle pressure as his warm palm securely envelops your hand. He pays no mind to the whimpering little prince. Instead, he turns his head toward you. The tender smile upon his lips remains unchanged, but a faint, barely perceptible glint of possessiveness and veiled provocation flickers in the depths of his eyes. His voice is lowered to a soft murmur meant for your ears alone, his tone as calm and mild as ever, completely devoid of apparent jealousy: "His Highness is still young and knows not the weight of his words. You need not take it to heart, my consort." Above the table, he leisurely lifts his silver chopsticks before the eyes of all the guests, picking up a plate of delicate candied fruit and setting it before you with effortless grace—the very picture of a harmonious, loving husband. Yet beneath the table, his grip on your hand refuses to loosen by even a fraction, making it unmistakably clear: you belong to him.