While the Min Imperial Palace simmered with internal strife and the raw aftershocks of Min Yulin's terrifying rage, life continued, seemingly oblivious to the seismic shifts, in other corners of the capital. Far from the cloistered wing where Shen Zhiyu and Min Haotian sought solace, the Prime Minister's Household buzzed with a different kind of tension. Tonight marked the annual birthday banquet for Prime Minister Xie Zhaokun, a man whose cruelty was as legendary as his political acumen. For his youngest son, Xie Anzhen, it was less a celebration and more an annual ritual of endurance.
Anzhen, a slender boy of eight, with intelligent, perceptive eyes that seemed to hold a wisdom beyond his years, moved through the throng of guests like a phantom. He was dressed in finely embroidered robes, chosen by his stepmother, Madame Hua, to reflect the family's wealth, but the heavy silk felt like a suffocating shroud. The air was thick with the cloying scent of exotic perfumes, rich foods, and the heavy perfume of wine, all of which only served to heighten Anzhen's discomfort.
He was a scholar at heart, preferring the quiet solitude of the library to the boisterous, often hypocritical, gatherings of court society. But as the son of the Prime Minister, a future intended for political marriage and alliances, he had no such luxury. He yearned for his mother, a gentlewoman of a scholarly family, who had instilled in him a love for books and poetry before her quiet demise a few years prior, a demise that always seemed to coincide with Madame Hua's rising prominence.
Madame Hua, the Official Wife, moved with an air of calculated elegance, her smile never quite reaching her cold eyes. She had two children of her own, Xie Jingrui and Xie Wenling, both older than Anzhen, both possessed of their mother's subtle cruelty and disdain for Anzhen's quiet, intellectual nature. Jingrui, a boorish Alpha, often mocked Anzhen's interest in arts and letters, while Wenling, a Beta, treated him with condescending pity. Tonight, they flitted among the guests, accepting congratulations and compliments on their "distinguished" father, while Anzhen remained largely ignored, a shadow at the edges of their family's grand display.
The banquet hall itself was a testament to Xie Zhaokun's power and influence. Lanterns of silk and jade cast a soft glow over tables laden with roasted meats, delicate pastries, and shimmering wine. Musicians played lilting melodies, but the music felt hollow to Anzhen, drowned out by the grating cacophony of forced laughter and sycophantic praise. Ministers and their families, rich merchants, and minor nobles mingled, their conversations a web of political maneuvering and whispered gossip. Anzhen instinctively shrank from the boisterous voices, seeking the quieter corners, hoping to become invisible.
He tried to focus on the textures of the rich tapestries, the intricate carvings on the pillars, anything to distract from the oppressive atmosphere. He felt the weight of his father's expectations, a suffocating pressure to be someone he wasn't – a cunning politician, a ruthless schemer, traits Xie Zhaokun valued above all else. His father had little patience for Anzhen's scholarly inclinations, viewing them as weaknesses. The Prime Minister, a man with cold, calculating eyes and a booming laugh that rarely reached them, was currently holding court at the head table, surrounded by powerful allies. He glanced occasionally towards Anzhen, a look of veiled disappointment in his gaze, a reminder that Anzhen was not the son he truly desired.
Anzhen knew the whispers that followed him too, though they were different from the ones that clung to Zhiyu. Here, it was about his "delicate" nature, his "lack of Alpha fire," his perceived unsuitability for the brutal world of politics. His stepmother had ensured these rumors circulated, subtly undermining his standing in his father's eyes, hoping to secure power for her own sons.
He found himself near a row of ornate folding screens, ostensibly providing privacy for quieter conversations. It was a brief respite from the overwhelming noise and artificiality. He imagined a secluded library, rows of ancient scrolls, the scent of ink and aged paper filling his nostrils. It was a dream, a fantasy he often retreated to.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the imagined peace wash over him. When he opened them, the relative calm was shattered. A shadow fell over him. A heavy, cloying scent of cheap perfume and stale wine assaulted his senses. Standing before him was Minister Liu, a man known for his unsavory reputation and his lecherous gaze. Liu was a bloated man in his late forties, a prominent figure in the imperial court, but one whose depravities were whispered about in hushed tones. He was a close ally of Prime Minister Xie Zhaokun, which meant he was often present at these banquets, and unfortunately, had a habit of noticing Anzhen.
Anzhen's stomach churned. He had done his best to avoid Liu all evening, knowing the man's unsavory tendencies. Liu's eyes, small and beady, raked over Anzhen's slender form with a disturbing, predatory glint. A repulsive smile spread across Liu's face, revealing stained teeth.
"Well, well, if it isn't the Prime Minister's delicate little flower," Liu slurred, his breath heavy with wine. He took a step closer, backing Anzhen against the screen. "Hiding away from the festivities? Don't you know how to enjoy yourself, boy?"
Anzhen felt a cold dread grip him. He tried to duck away, to feign an excuse, but Liu was too quick. A large, fleshy hand reached out, its fingers brushing inappropriately against Anzhen's arm, sending a shiver of revulsion through him.
"Such soft skin," Liu murmured, his voice laced with a disgusting insinuation. He leaned in, his gaze fixed on Anzhen's face, a cruel smile forming. "Perhaps you just need someone to teach you how to properly enjoy a banquet..."
Anzhen's heart hammered against his ribs. He felt trapped, vulnerable. He looked around wildly, desperately hoping for someone, anyone, to intervene, but the other guests seemed oblivious, lost in their own conversations. His father was too far away, too engrossed in his own power plays. His half-siblings would likely mock him for his "weakness." He was truly alone.
As Minister Liu's hand moved higher, his eyes fixed on Anzhen with a predatory hunger, a sudden, powerful roar, unlike anything Anzhen had ever heard, ripped through the air, shaking the very foundations of the
banquet hall.