Minister Liu's fleshy hand, heavy and invasive, was dangerously close to Xie Anzhen's face, his breath a foul mixture of wine and gluttony. Anzhen's heart hammered against his ribs, like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. He pressed himself further against the screen, the delicate silk rustling, his entire body rigid with revulsion and fear. He could feel the heat radiating from Liu's body, the oppressive weight of his presence. Just as Liu's fingers were about to make contact, his small, scholarly world about to be irrevocably tainted, a sound shattered the false gaiety of the banquet hall.
It wasn't a cultured cough, nor a polite clearing of the throat. It was a primal, furious roar, sharp and raw, that tore through the air, shaking the very foundations of the Prime Minister's lavish residence. The music faltered, the laughter died, and conversations ceased abruptly. All heads turned, searching for the source of such an unrefined, powerful sound.
Sheng Chenyu, the General's son, stood framed in the archway of the banquet hall, his imposing figure cutting a striking silhouette against the softer lamplight. He was only six, but his presence was already formidable, radiating an untamed energy that silenced the room. His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on Minister Liu, blazing with an incandescent, protective fury. He had been lurking near the entrance, observing the stifling atmosphere, when his gaze had fallen upon Anzhen cornered by the lecherous minister.
Chenyu moved with the swiftness of a predator. He didn't stride; he advanced like a coiled spring uncoiling, directly towards Liu and Anzhen. His steps were heavy, deliberate, each one echoing the silent, terrifying promise of violence. Minister Liu, startled by the roar, spun around, his bloated face going slack with surprise, then turning pale with a dawning fear as he recognized Chenyu.
"Sheng... Sheng Chenyu! What is the meaning of this?!" Liu blustered, attempting to regain his composure, but his voice cracked.
Chenyu didn't answer. He reached Liu in two powerful strides, a blur of motion. Without a word, he grabbed the minister by the front of his elaborate robes, his small but surprisingly strong hands bunching the expensive fabric. He lifted Liu clear off his feet, the older man sputtering and kicking, his feet dangling uselessly in the air. The crowd gasped, a collective intake of breath.
Anzhen stared, wide-eyed, unable to comprehend the sudden, brutal intervention. Chenyu, his age belying his strength, slammed Minister Liu against the nearest pillar with a bone-jarring thud. A groan of pain escaped Liu's lips as he slumped, half-conscious. Chenyu didn't release him. His face, usually marked by a quiet intensity, was now a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. He raised his fist, small but tight with coiled muscle, and brought it down with terrifying force, not once, but twice, against Minister Liu's jaw. The sound of cartilage cracking was sickeningly audible.
The banquet hall erupted into a cacophony of shrieks and terrified murmurs. Guests scrambled back, overturning tables, spilling wine and food. This was no childish scuffle; this was a vicious assault, utterly devoid of restraint. Liu's eyes rolled back in his head, his body limp. Chenyu, his breath coming in sharp, controlled gasps, was clearly not done. He was about to land another blow, a killing strike, his eyes burning with a dark resolve that belied his six years.
"Chenyu! Stop! What are you doing?!" a new voice boomed, sharp and authoritative. General Sheng Wufan, Chenyu's father, a man of iron will and unwavering discipline, had finally pushed through the panicked crowd, his face grim. He quickly assessed the scene, his gaze sweeping from his son's murderous intent to the unconscious minister.
General Sheng grabbed Chenyu's arm, his grip like a vise. Chenyu resisted, his gaze still fixed on Liu, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "He touched him!" Chenyu snarled, his voice raw, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness that startled even his own father. "He tried to taint him!"
General Sheng's eyes followed Chenyu's gaze to Anzhen, who stood trembling, overwhelmed by the sudden violence, his small form pressed against the broken screen. The General, a man of honor, understood. Minister Liu's reputation was well known, and the sight of Anzhen's terrified face spoke volumes.
The Prime Minister, Xie Zhaokun, finally arrived, pushing through the chaos, his face a mask of furious humiliation. His banquet, ruined. His ally, beaten to a pulp by a mere child. "Sheng Wufan! Control your son! He has assaulted a minister! This is an outrage! He will be punished!" Zhaokun bellowed, his eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in them.
But Chenyu, tearing his arm free from his father's grip, ignored the Prime Minister completely. He walked past the still-slumped Liu, past his own stern father, and directly to Anzhen. He reached out, not with aggression, but with a surprising gentleness, and pulled Anzhen away from the screen, turning him to face the stunned, silent crowd.
Then, in a voice that, despite his youth, carried the full weight of a declaration, Sheng Chenyu spoke. His eyes, no longer burning with rage, were now fixed on Anzhen with an intense, unwavering possessiveness. He looked not at the Prime Minister, nor at his own father, but at every single noble, every guest, every servant in the hall, ensuring his words resonated with absolute clarity.
"He," Chenyu's voice, though young, was imbued with an authority that brooked no argument, "is mine."
He paused, letting the silence of the shock settle, letting his words sink in. "No one," he continued, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl, "touches what is mine. No one looks. No one speaks ill. Understand?" His gaze swept across the crowd, daring anyone to defy him.
The message was clear. This was not a request; it was a decree. A declaration of ownership, a promise of fierce, unyielding protection. Before anyone could react, before Prime Minister Xie Zhaokun could even utter another word of protest, Chenyu took Anzhen's hand, his grip firm and unwavering, and led him directly out of the banquet hall. He didn't wait for permission, didn't seek approval. He simply took what he claimed.
Anzhen, utterly bewildered and yet strangely relieved, stumbled along, his hand engulfed in Chenyu's. He glanced back, over his shoulder. He saw his father, Prime Minister Xie Zhaokun, his face a mask of furious humiliation, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as he watched his son being led away by another boy, in a blatant act of defiance that shattered all pretense of decorum. Anzhen knew this act would have repercussions, but as Chenyu led him out into the cool night air, away from the stifling heat and the lecherous gaze of the banquet hall, he felt a strange sense of exhilarating freedom. He was being taken, claimed, by someone who seemed to genuinely want to protect him, rather than exploit him.
As Chenyu led Anzhen through the palace gates, away from the chaos and towards the Sheng Military Household, Anzhen wondered what his future would be, now bound to a protector as untamed and unpredictable
as a young dragon.