In Cristal halls of Bàiyun , even the most disciplined heart can be undone by a fox's mischief...
Jiǔ Chén's steps echoed softly along the polished marble floors of Palace Jìng (晶宫 | Jìng Gōng | "Crystal Palace"), the heart of Domain Baiyun (白云境 | Bái Yún Jìng | "White Cloud Domain"). Each step carried the weight of responsibility, yet the lingering warmth of Xuě Jìng's trust pressed against his chest like a hidden fire. The moonlight filtering through the tall latticed windows painted the corridors in delicate silver, dancing across gilded moldings and crystal lanterns suspended by thin golden chains.
As Jiǔ Chén descended, his fox ears twitched at the faint echoes of laughter. From a side hall, a familiar voice called out, teasing and full of mischief:
"Well, well… if it isn't Jiǔ Chén."
Jiǔ Chén paused, eyes narrowing. Lotus-green irises glimmered in the dim light. Zī Hào (子豪 | Zǐ Hào), a fox yao almost the same age as Jiǔ Chén, black hair cascading to his shoulders, sprawled on a low bench, surrounded by guards. The scene was absurd. Guards giggling, some holding small cups of Yeifēng wine (夜风酒 | Yè Fēng Jiǔ | "Night Wind Wine"), dared Zī Hào to perform ridiculous acts. One shouted, "Sing! Sing about the wine, Zǐ Hào!"
Zī Hào rolled his eyes, mock-straight face, yet his voice carried through the hall:
"Too… refined… too 'body' for these plebeians…" He stretched languidly, arms above his head, drawing attention, teasingly claiming superiority over the group. The guards groaned and laughed, but Zī Hào smirked, leaving them behind.
Jiǔ Chén's brow twitched. The moment he stepped fully into the hall, Zī Hào's eyes sharpened, mischief sparkling.
"So…" Zī Hào said, tilting his head, "how is your ribbon Dao tonight? Adjusting to the new title?"
Jiǔ Chén stiffened, his mind racing. He had just become Xuě Jìng's right-hand, a position of immense responsibility. And yet, Zī Hào was poking every soft spot with precise cruelty.
"I am… managing," Jiǔ Chén replied cautiously, trying to maintain composure.
Zī Hào's grin widened. "Managing? Hah! The mighty royal guard reduced to a twitching servant boy overnight." He circled Jiǔ Chén, pressing his shoulder lightly, teasing yet unthreatening. "After the ceremony, you'll get your precious wine—Yeifēng, right? And maybe… you'll finally drink it with someone who appreciates the taste."
Jiǔ Chén's tail twitched nervously as Zī Hào's words sank in. Each step forward through the golden-red corridor seemed heavier now, his boots echoing softly against the polished marble. The laughter from the side hall followed him like a shadow, teasing him with every step, a reminder of what he had just become: Xuě Jìng's right-hand seven days before the royal guard ceremony.
Zī Hào leaned lazily against a low bench, black hair spilling over his shoulders, eyes glimmering mischievously. "Well, well… if it isn't Jiǔ Chén," he purred. "So stiff, so serious… surely the great right-hand can loosen up a little. Or are you scared of… holding gold already?"
Jiǔ Chén's ears twitched back, jaw tightening.
"How did you know that I just…"
Before he could reply, Zī Hào grinned. "My ears are sharp as yours… you know~"
Jiǔ Chén huffed. "I… am focused. Responsibility is… paramount."
Zī Hào's grin widened, sharp and teasing. "Responsibility? Hmm… sounds terribly dull. My friends dared me to have you join the fun tonight, but alas—you look far too serious to play."
A few guards around the hall chuckled, holding small cups of Yeifēng wine aloft. One piped up, "Come on, Zǐ Hào! Make him sing!"
Zī Hào rolled his eyes dramatically, arms thrown skyward. "Very well, very well. Since you all insist…" He tilted his head and sang with mock grandeur, voice ringing through the hall:
夜风醉影落花香,
Yè fēng zuì yǐng luò huā xiāng,
The drunken night wind carries fallen blossoms' scent,
玉盏微红映粉妆.
Yù zhǎn wēi hóng yìng fěn zhuāng.
In jade cups, blush-colored wine paints rouge upon fair faces.
一口夜风心潮漾,
Yī kǒu Yè fēng xīn cháo yàng,
One sip of Night Wind, and the heart ripples like restless tides,
笑眼藏情不敢彰.
Xiào yǎn cáng qíng bù gǎn zhāng.
In smiling eyes hides a secret, too bold to speak aloud.
夜风似吻轻拂颊,
Yè fēng sì wěn qīng fú jiá,
Night Wind feels like a kiss, brushing gently across the cheek,
醉里悄声心暗答.
Zuì lǐ qiāo shēng xīn àn dá,
In drunkenness, whispers answer silently, heart to heart.
歌尽未说情已长,
Gē jǐn wèi shuō qíng yǐ cháng,
Though the song says nothing, feeling lingers on and on,
笑语遮掩意彷徨.
Xiào yǔ zhē yǎn yì páng huáng.
Laughter veils the hesitation, the longing slipping through.
The guards erupted in applause, laughing and slapping the floor as if Zī Hào had just sung the most outrageous tavern ballad in history. Cups clinked, and someone even shouted for an encore.
Jiǔ Chén's ears twitched, tail flicking with restless tension, betraying every attempt at composure. His chest throbbed with a storm of emotions—excitement, nerves, and a spark of reluctant amusement—tangled together like threads he couldn't unravel. Every laugh, every exaggerated gesture from Zī Hào felt like a light tap against his resolve, teasing and daring him all at once. The warmth of the lanterns on the polished marble reflected off the guards' eager faces, while the faint scent of Yeifēng wine curled teasingly in the air, sharp and heady, almost like a secret only they shared.
The world seemed to pause around him: the clinking cups, the guards' laughter, even the soft gleam of moonlight on Zī Hào's black hair froze in that instant, crystallized like a moment plucked from the flow of time. His fox ears twitched again, sharper this time, catching a subtle rustle from Zī Hào's movements—light, teasing, impossibly alive. The tail coiled and uncoiled behind him, a restless echo of the tension in his chest. Even his hands, clenched subtly at his sides, ached with the strange desire to act, to react, yet remain utterly restrained.
And in the midst of it all, Jiǔ Chén realized with a shiver that the night—and the mischief of this fox—was far from over. A small, reluctant thrill crept into him, sharp and dangerous, brushing against the edge of his control. He knew that however serious the duties of Xuě Jìng's right-hand might be, some nights—like this one—would unravel him in the most unexpected, absurd, and utterly delightful ways....