Mesmerising

Underneath a thin cloak were robes in shades of red, with flowing water sleeves, embroidered with finely-spun golden threads. The style was androgynous in a way that Yan Zheyun found humiliating but he forced himself to stomach it, wearing the golden half-mask like it was resolve and hiding all the ugly feelings broiling beneath the surface behind it.

A thick belt, with ornate brocade stitched into it, cinched his waist to accentuate its slenderness. A prop sword, already checked multiple times by the palace guards, dangling loosely from its hilt in his right hand. He used his left to pull the edges of his cloak more tightly around his body to try and keep the chill out.

The only blessed relief Yan Zheyun had was that stilettos hadn't been invented yet and he was dancing in soft, flat shoes that Yu Lan had specifically commissioned to be of good quality.

Music drifted out from within the banquet hall. He had heard the heraldry announcing the emperor's presence earlier and perhaps food had already been served. The main door had already been shut and Yan Zheyun was currently standing outside one of them feeling like a complete fool. Guards and servants alike looked at him askance when they passed, judging him to be yet another social climber about to attempt crawling up the fourth prince's bed in exchange for a life of luxury.

But Yan Zheyun had bigger goals. He was eyeing the dragon bed instead.

He wasn't sure how much longer he stood there in line with no one else for company besides Steward Yang, who didn't deign to glance in his direction. Was probably just there to keep him in check and not cause a disaster for the Wu Household.

Come to think of it, it was so bold of Wu Shengqi to offer up a criminal's son as a gift, when once upon a time, they hadn't even dared to allow Yan Zheyun to accompany Wu Bin to court as his manservant. Did Scumbag 2's obsession with Yan Zheyun give him that courage? Did he believe that the emperor would close one eye just because Yan Zheyun was nothing more than a powerless slave?

If the emperor was as wise as Yan Zheyun thought he was, he might not order Yan Zheyun's death because that wouldn't appear magnanimous, but he wouldn't let Yan Zheyun go to his brother's home either.

Yan Zheyun was counting on the emperor falling for either his face or accepting him into the palace to keep him close by.

The way one should always keep their enemies close.

After what felt like an eternity of shivering in the cold, just as Yan Zheyun's feet were starting to feel pinched from standing for too long in dainty shoes, the music within the hall ceased.

Steward Yang straightened up. "Get ready," he said and Yan Zheyun felt the skin on the nape of his neck tingle with adrenaline.

There was talking inside that Yan Zheyun couldn't decipher and then the doors were swinging open, just as the soft strains from a lonely, haunting flute began. The lamps within the hall had been dimmed with darker shades and trails of cloth unfurled from the ceiling to flutter in the chilly early winter breeze. The only brightly lit area was the dance platform in the centre of the hall, which he now walked with measured steps towards.

The last note of the flute lingered in the air. As his shoe touched the platform, the melancholic atmosphere was broken by heavy, solemn drumming.

Yu Lan had choreographed a beautiful dance but she had also done so knowing full well that her performer was a man. Instead of cloying seductive song refrains, she had chosen to highlight Prince Lanling's martial background, incorporating flashy displays of sword-dancing into the routine along with heartrending elegance.

And she wasn't just a dancer herself. She was also a prostitute, one of the most renowned in the lands. She had taken one look at Yan Zheyun and known what about him it was that men desired.

Who could resist taking such a proud, beautiful creature and dragging it down from its pedestal to be tainted at their hands?

So although she'd kept the cutting of his costume feminine, she had highlighted the strength and power of the moves while retaining a supple edge. And this was exactly the effect Yan Zheyun managed to achieve. The footwork of the dance wasn't very complicated. The rhythm of the dance was slow and stately, heavy with the weight of war.

The emphasis of the moves was on the wielding of the prop sword. Yan Zheyun could feel his heart slamming against its rib cage in tandem with the music. He could feel all eyes on him and willed himself to ignore it, to treat them just like any audience he had ever entertained in business conferences.

It was easier said than done but once he began, his consciousness of his surroundings faded and he found himself slipping back into the familiar movements that he had so painstakingly trained day and night to perfect.

Because he was performing in front of the imperial family, Yan Zheyun kept his eyes trained on the ground, as gazing upon their visages without permission would invite nothing but punishment. Still, as he bent his waist backwards far enough to touch the ground, he caught a glimpse of the figures seated on the dais and saw from the corner of his eye a glimpse of black and gold robes.

Only one person was allowed to wear that colour combination.

He had made the right bet. The emperor was still here and watching him. Now he just had to ensure that he seized his chances.

Motivated, Yan Zheyun moved with a new sense of purpose. The flicking of his wrists as he expertly twirled the sword in quick, even spirals was strong. He achieved this with such speed that the sword appeared to leave behind an illusion of itself, the blade fanning out in a circle that was known as a 'sword flower'.

Sword-dancing. It was both technique with the sword and the technique of dance combined into one harmonious balance. This host body might be soft but delicate but the soul within was not, and the sharpness of Yan Zheyun's personality became evident in the sure, confident wave he executed his routine on stage.

All eyes, of men and women alike, were riveted to him. Upon the dais, the fourth prince leaned forward in his seat, unable to conceal his desire for this new gift of his.

And because no one dared to look at the person seated next to him, in the highest position, no one noticed a burning intent in the depths of the emperor's dark gaze.

The song was soon approaching its climax. The sword flowers gave way to a furious series of quick, crisscrossing slashes, and Yan Zheyun still had bruises on his arms and legs from making mistakes again and again at this point. He didn't mess up this time, though, the motions long since converted to muscle memory. He interspersed these complicated arm movements with twirling half-leaps that fanned out his robes beautifully, the red catching the glow of the lights at different angles and making him look like a god of war descending upon the mortal realm to change the tide of battle.

Even with the mask on, everyone could see that his eyes were ablaze with victorious determination.

The Minister of Rites chanced a glance at the fourth prince and was pleased to see the undisguised possessiveness on his face. By his side, his son had clenched his wine cup hard enough to shatter it but Wu Shengqi paid him no mind. This would be a valuable lesson to Bin Er.

Liang Hui was on the other side of the room, hidden behind folding screens. The women of the court were not allowed to sit with the men and so while she could hear the music, she could not appreciate the dance. Not that she would, anyway. What was so enjoyable about a cheap servant whoring himself out for the pleasures of men? She hid a smug smile behind a hand as she glanced with amusement at the fourth prince's consort, whose knuckles were white and face ashen. It didn't look like Her Highness was going to let that little Yan slut who dared seduce her sons lead an easy life in the fourth prince's manor.

Thoughts like these, some envious, some mocking, raced through the minds of the distinguished guests present but Yan Zheyun did not pause to consider whether their opinions of him. His previous shame and reluctance had melted away, to be replaced with the calm of a tranquil lake. He was always at his best when he was fulfilling an objective and pushing himself out of his comfort zone to face adversity head-on was a special forte of his.

Perhaps the emperor would perceive his identity as a threat and have him killed. Then so be it. But at least he'd tried to save himself.

The beating of the drums quickened. Yan Zheyun's feet moved in a blur as he turned on the spot in repeated motion, robes flowing out around him as his black hair cascaded like a waterfall. Soft bells in his headdress and on his bracelets and anklets chimed, too softly for others to hear, but the noise kept Yan Zheyun company and reassured him with its familiarity.

He edged closer and closer to the side of the platform until he was certain he was right in the middle of the room, in front of the emperor. Then, with the last resounding drum beat, he dropped to one knee in a bow of allegiance, propping himself up on the sword like a wounded soldier paying his liege homage. This was not the finale that Yu Lan had planned for him but one that he had practised in secret on his own. Even if he had to enter the harem and serve another man in bed, he wanted everyone here today, at this banquet, to acknowledge that he, too, was a man. He didn't need to kneel in a provocative, submissive display like Yu Lan had arranged for him to, to capture everyone's attention.

With a slight tremble in his other hand, he reached up and removed his mask.

A chorus of stunned murmuring rippled throughout the hall. The ladies, who knew that the performance had ended but who could not see what was going on, exchanged uneasy glances.

Yan Zheyun forced himself to keep his head bowed, trying his best to disregard the heated, eager gazes that roamed greedily over his face. He knew that the whispering was more than about his looks. He had been 14 when his family had fallen to ruin. That was old enough for his features to be somewhat recognisable. He concentrated on regulating his breathing, pale pink lips parting to let out soft, small pants that were even more alluring to the eyes of his audience. Instead of slowing down, though, his heart started racing even more quickly as some of his nerves returned.

This was it. His life was completely in the hands of the most powerful man in the realm and if he chose to kill Yan Zheyun for being the son of a convict or if he chose to hand Yan Zheyun over to the fourth prince without a second glance, Yan Zheyun would be unable to do anything but obey his commands.

"Excellent—"

Yan Zheyun heard the beginnings of the fourth prince's enthusiastic praise but it was suddenly cut short. Sweat soaked into the inner robes of his costume, trickling down the back of his neck and running in rivulets down his spine.

And then, he heard a voice that he'd dreamt of on occasion but had never imagined he would hear here and now.

"Raise your head," it said, inscrutable and commanding. "Let this sovereign look at you."