"You are also the brother of the Vanguard Commander. To them, you are not a person, but a golden key to a political alliance that could secure the throne."

Ji’an’s jaw tightened. "I am aware of how politics work, Yichen. I intend to ignore them."

"You cannot ignore them forever, Royal Uncle. They will swarm you, offer you wealth, rare ingredients, concubines, and power," Yichen stated, his fan tapping rhythmically against the table.

’Haha, why are they offering women... Sorry, but I’ll pass...’ Ji’an felt awkward hearing that from Yichen.

He leaned in so close his shoulder brushed against hers.

"But you do not have to endure their pathetic groveling," Yichen offered, his tone dropping into a dark, seductive bargain. "Say the word, Royal Uncle. Take my side and acknowledge my patronage publicly, and I will swat them away like flies. No one will dare approach you if they know you are under my protection."

It was a classic, flawless trap. Create the threat, isolate the target, and then offer yourself as the sole savior. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Ji’an finally turned her head, meeting his dark, calculating eyes.

The melancholy that had been weighing her down instantly crystallized into a sharp, freezing irritation.

"I am not a damsel in distress, Yichen," Ji’an sneered softly, her silver-flecked eyes flashing with arrogant defiance. "I am a Third Generation Elder. If your brothers try to swarm me, I will publicly humiliate them by critiquing their palate and rejecting their bribes. I do not need your protection. If you remember that I am your Royal Uncle, do not forget your place."

Yichen’s smile didn’t falter, but a dark, thrilling spark ignited in his eyes. He loved it when she fought back. "Your pride is a beautiful, fragile thing, Royal Uncle. Let us see how long it holds."

Before Yichen could press his advantage, a new, far more dangerous player entered the field.

"Yichen, my son. Are you bothering our honored guest?"

The voice was like spun glass, beautiful, delicate, and entirely capable of drawing blood.

Descending from the lower tiers of the imperial dais was Noble Consort Rui, Xiao Yichen’s mother.

She was a woman of devastating, ageless beauty, draped in crimson and gold silk.

Her eyes, the same dark, fathomless pools as her son’s, locked onto Lin Ji’an with the calculating precision of a master falconer sizing up a sparrow.

Ji’an stood immediately, offering a flawless, formal bow. "Greetings to Noble Consort Rui. May your health be eternal."

"Such impeccable manners," the Consort smiled, a curve of her lips that contained absolutely no warmth. She glided over, resting a hand lightly on Yichen’s shoulder. "Please, sit, Royal Brother Lin. After all, we are all a family here."

Ji’an sat, her spine ramrod straight. The air around the table had suddenly turned into a political minefield.

"I must admit, Your Highness," Consort Rui began, her voice carrying just enough volume to ensure the surrounding nobles could hear. "I was quite surprised to learn of your ascension within the Celestial Sword Sect. A boy with no spiritual roots, suddenly holding the rank of a Sovereign Elder. And your chosen path... cooking, is it?"

A faint, mocking titter rippled through the nearby tables of noblewomen.

"It is a noble pursuit to feed the hungry," Consort Rui continued, her smile sharpening into a blade. "But surrounded by the martial glory of your father and your legendary brother... one cannot help but wonder if the kitchen is truly the place for a Lin. Does a cook truly understand the weight of the sword, or the honor of the battlefield?"

It was a blatant, highly public insult masked as polite conversation.

She was attempting to strip Ji’an of her mystique, to belittle her sect status by reducing her to a mere servant in front of the entire imperial court.

She was trying to force Ji’an to rely on Yichen for defense.

On the contrary, Ji’an did not even flinch, nor did she look to Yichen for help.

Ji’an was calm and collected as she picked up her porcelain teacup, took a slow, deliberate sip, and set it down with a soft, definitive clink.

"Noble Consort," Ji’an replied, her voice ringing clear, steady, and loud enough to silence the surrounding titters. "A sword takes a life in a single stroke. But food? Food sustains the army that wields the swords. A general may win the battle, but it is the supply lines that win the war."

She met the Consort’s dark eyes with absolute, unyielding calm.

"My Dao provides the foundation upon which heroes are built. There is no shame in stoking the hearth. In fact, I would argue it takes far more strength to nurture life than it does to simply extinguish it. But of course, one who has only ever lived within the safety of palace walls might struggle to grasp the logistics of true survival. Isn’t that so? Your Highness?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Ji’an had just flawlessly parried the insult, elevated her own status, and subtly, elegantly called the Emperor’s favored consort ignorant and sheltered.

Xiao Yichen pressed his fan against his lips to hide a sudden, violent grin of pure, unadulterated adoration.

Consort Rui’s eye twitched. The flawless mask slipped for a fraction of a millisecond before she forced it back into place.

"How... eloquently put, Royal Brother," Consort Rui managed to squeak out a few words, her voice suddenly tight.

Seeking to change the pace and regain control of the room, the Consort turned gracefully toward the center of the hall, raising her voice to address the Emperor.

"Your Majesty! The night grows long, and the wine flows freely. To properly honor the return of Vanguard Commander Lin Feng, perhaps we should invite the young lords and ladies of the court to present their talents! A competition of song, dance, and poetry, dedicated to the heroes of the Northern Barrens!"

The Emperor, deeply drunk on victory and high-grade wine, slammed his goblet on his armrest. "An excellent proposal!"