Ice Dragon and Flower

Chapter 10: The Old Man Comes

BACK TO THE BANQUET HALL

Not long after, Mẫn Nguyệt returned as well, the snow eagle perched on her shoulder in its miniature form, looking no different than a tiny white bantam chicken. By now, the hall was already full of guests, gifts and offerings piling high across the courtyard.

Her sworn elder sister was being clung onto by the second prince like a piece of sticky candy, leaving her no chance to help Mẫn Nguyệt receive guests.

As for Lãnh Thiên, once he was sure Mẫn Nguyệt wouldn’t suddenly kick him aside, he followed her around like her shadow—mostly to keep an eye on what gifts others had brought, just to see if any could surpass his own.

[High-grade spirit pill? Hah. I give those to A Nguyệt like candy every day.]

[Golden silk lotus robe? Tch, not even as fine as the fabric I used to make her shoes last month.]

[Ice-feather sword? Decent, but my A Nguyệt prefers whipping people with her dragon-sinew lash.]

…

On and on he muttered inwardly, criticizing each gift with a nose-in-the-air kind of pride, his chest puffing higher each time—utterly convinced his own present was second to none.

Mẫn Nguyệt kept smiling politely, that professional, almost mechanical smile merchants wore when closing deals. Yet even so, her smile was still dazzling, enough to make several young nobles sneak more than a few extra glances before finally retreating to their seats.

[Her cheeks must be sore from smiling by now, hah…]

She sighed inwardly, wishing the endless line of gift-givers would hurry up. By now the sun had reached its zenith, and she was nearly starving.

Lãnh Thiên caught the fleeting frown that crossed her face—a momentary crease that anyone else would’ve missed. But of course, he noticed. How could he not? At this hour on any other day, she’d have already stormed into his palace, kicking down his door to raid his pantry.

So he slipped closer, took her hand, and secretly pressed a freshly stolen pastry into her palm. Half to feed her, half to make it obvious to everyone that there was something between them. He whispered:

“Hold on a bit longer, I counted—only about five more people.”

A soft cough from Consort Nhan startled him. He quickly let go, ears burning red as if he’d been caught committing a scandal.

“How coincidental,” the consort said teasingly, “the sixth prince’s outfit today looks like a perfect couple’s set with the guest of honor’s gown.”

The meaning was clear—an open nudge toward a marriage alliance with the State Preceptor’s family.

Lãnh Thiên’s head nearly exploded with steam. Face flaming, he stammered incoherently:

“M-Mother… you… you’re right… q-quite the coincidence indeed—”

Then he bolted to his seat, mortified. Still, even in his panic he was shrewd enough to claim the chair right next to the guest of honor. Originally, that place should’ve been for her sworn sister, but since Tô Mộc Lan was firmly stuck beside his second brother, Lãnh Thiên seized the spot without hesitation.

[So jealous of Second Brother… getting to hold her openly while I don’t even have an official title yet… haiz…]

His eyes practically sparkled with envy. Ever since Hoàng Bắc Dạ had proposed—and the emperor had sealed it with an edict—the pair had been inseparable, flaunting their love all over the capital. And everyone knew it. While he, the sixth prince, was still technically single.

At last, the final guest arrived. Mẫn Nguyệt visibly brightened, relieved that she could soon sit down. But the sight of the newcomer froze both her and Lãnh Thiên in shock.

It was Giang Thừa Tự.

Somehow, the shameless man had wrangled an invitation—likely through his old ties with certain princes. He swaggered in, clad in garish purple that was even louder than the birthday girl’s attire, his expression dripping with self-importance. A few nobles muttered in distaste.

But Giang Thừa Tự, of course, thought their stares were admiration. He proudly presented a set of rare golden threads for embroidery, grinning smugly as if he’d just offered the world’s greatest treasure.

If it weren’t her birthday banquet, Mẫn Nguyệt would’ve kicked him straight out. Even the snow eagle ruffled its feathers restlessly, wanting to revert to full size and toss the man off a cliff. She had to stroke its head to calm it down.

And still, the man didn’t know when to shut up.

“Tô Lady is truly the epitome of virtue and talent—skilled in the four arts, a perfect example of womanly grace. I present these golden threads so that you may embroider a handkerchief… for your future husband.”

He winked.

The hall fell silent, most guests hiding their smirks. After all, everyone in the capital knew the State Preceptor’s daughter preferred wielding a whip, not a needle.

Lãnh Thiên’s lips twitched in a dangerous smirk. He gave a soft cough, and in his palm, he crushed a jade pendant—the very one that Giang Thừa Tự had once lost outside the city.

Yes. The sixth prince was jealous again.

Meanwhile, inside his mind, Bạch Long rolled gleefully in the spirit sea:

[Ohh, food’s coming! Finally, a proper feast!]

The dragon still remembered how, the last time it helped intimidate Giang Thừa Tự at the inn, its master had rewarded it with endless delicacies.

And as for Giang Thừa Tự? The moment he met Lãnh Thiên’s razor-sharp glare, his face went pale. Memories of nearly being smashed to death by Bạch Long’s tail resurfaced instantly, and he slunk away to his seat, shaking.