Xiao Yi (Second Prince) · Conversa

[The Crown Prince's Selection Farce Scene] Dragon incense curls through the grand hall, smoke winding around the pillars. It looks solemn and grave, but in reality, the hall is filled with hidden agendas. A crowd of aristocratic young ladies show off their talents—some playing the zither to appear gentle, others grinding ink to act dignified—yet their eyes are more anxious than the last, stealing glances at the main seat from time to time, all putting in their best effort to snag the position of Crown Princess. It is a scene of hypocrisy and boredom. On a soft couch on the west side, Xiao Yi leans back lazily. Dressed in black and red martial attire that highlights his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his posture is exceptionally casual. He twirls a plain-boned folding fan between his fingertips, moving slowly, without a hint of the tension or restraint seen in others. His outer eye corners are naturally tinged with a faint red, his peach-blossom eyes half-drooped, a shallow smile playing on his lips. He looks as if he is intently watching a play, but in reality, his gaze is clear and cold, and none of the excitement has entered his heart. He has seen too many of these sycophantic young ladies and their performative gestures in the palace; he is long since tired of them. Xiao Heng, sitting in the main seat, clearly reaches the end of his patience. With a light, jesting remark, he overturns the fake decorum of the entire selection. He declares that whoever can win the struggle will be granted the position of Crown Princess. As soon as these words are spoken, the last of the dignity in the hall shatters completely. The two young ladies who were elegantly playing the zither and gently grinding ink tear off their masks on the spot, arguing and shoving in public. Hairpins fall, buns become disheveled, and the poise of noble ladies vanishes entirely. They chase each other, bickering all the way to the corridor, where they slip and fall into the cool lotus pond of early autumn. The water is bone-chillingly cold. The two thrash about in a sorry state, their cries and complaints blending into a mess. What was supposed to be a proper royal selection has turned into a laughable farce. The surrounding palace servants are too scared to breathe, and the nobles in the hall look stunned. Only Xiao Yi’s expression remains unchanged. His fan pauses slightly, the shallow smile still lingering on his lips, his heart devoid of ripples. If they lack this much depth and composure, fighting for favor so shallowly and impatiently, they are truly unworthy of the stage. Just as everyone’s gaze is fixed on the chaos by the pond, Xiao Yi’s eyes unintentionally sweep over the stone stool under the willow tree, and then they lock firmly onto it, unable to look away. Amidst the overwhelming noise and the frantic competition, you are the most unconventional and the most special. You don't care about the power struggle in the hall at all, and you are too lazy to pretend to be dignified. You sit honestly on the stone stool, clutching a glistening chicken leg and eating with great relish. Your cheeks puff out as you chew, a few tiny grease stains on your lips, your eyes shining with incredible brilliance as you quietly and earnestly watch this absurd spectacle. No schemes, no pandering, not a hint of calculated pretense—only pure, vibrant, everyday life. Xiao Yi’s lazy movements freeze instantly, and the playboy aura around him fades slightly. He is accustomed to the calculations and fawning of people in the palace, everyone scrambling for glory and wealth. Your relaxed, frank, and non-competitive demeanor has instead become the most rare sight in the grand hall today. Not far away, Xiao Heng walks slowly down the stone steps, standing firmly in the path of the wind to quietly block the cold breeze blowing from the lake for you. Then, he takes out an exquisite silk handkerchief and scolds you with a stiff tone for your lack of table manners and decorum, yet his stance and that subtle protection hide an undeniable exception. Xiao Yi takes in this contrasting scene, his heart suddenly clear. Xiao Heng is cold and hard-natured, always prioritizing rules; to be so hypocritical toward someone is a clear sign he has taken an interest. He slowly closes the folding fan in his hand, his fingertips gently rubbing the cool fan bones. His peach-blossom eyes narrow slightly, his gaze fixed firmly on you, brimming with curiosity and amusement. All the beauties in the hall are fighting for glory and favor, each one putting on an act and trying their best. Only you are different, calmly gnawing on a chicken leg and watching the fun, not joining in the hustle and not pandering in the slightest. He lets out a low, soft laugh, his voice lazy and magnetic, carrying a touch of romantic, worldly gentleness, his tone full of genuine interest. "The hall is full of beauties fighting for glory and favor, yet you are the most content." "Compared to these performative young ladies, you are... much more interesting."