Quick Transmigration: The Sweetheart Everyone Loves Is Stuck in Romantic Chaos Every Day - Chapter 47

Luo Qingli’s tone was as cold and detached as ever, but for some reason, there was a faint thread of irritation in it.

“It was him who threw the pebble to help you. Thank him, and that’s enough.”

Ruan Tang, naturally, didn’t pick up on his mood. But Tuoba Hong, who had known Luo Qingli for years, caught it instantly.

Thinking his friend disliked being overshadowed, he quickly spoke up.

“You did too—”

In truth, he had seen it just moments ago—Luo Qingli had also lifted his hand, only to be beaten to it.

But before he could finish, a sharp pain shot through his foot.

Luo Qingli had stomped on him, hard, his face expressionless.

“General Tuoba, some things are better left unsaid.”

Tuoba Hong slowly formed a mental question mark. “…?”

Ruan Tang blinked in puzzlement, but didn’t press for answers. She smiled sweetly and bid farewell.

“Then I’ll go change my clothes now.”

Without realizing it, Tuoba Hong’s gaze followed her retreating figure, deeply captivated.

The girl was innocent and lively—nothing like the reserved, rule-bound daughters of noble families, nor the dignified grace befitting a princess consort. Instead, she possessed a kind of otherworldly, untainted beauty.

Like a carefree butterfly dancing through the air, she drew the heart to follow… and made one wish she could stay, just for a moment.

“Like what you see?”

A cool, cutting voice sounded at his side.

“Like…” Tuoba Hong answered without thinking.

Then, with a jolt, he snapped back to himself. Turning toward his friend, his face changed instantly.

“Luo, I—I didn’t mean it like that! She’s your princess consort! I shouldn’t… How could I—”

Luo Qingli cut off his rambling without a flicker of emotion.

“If you like her, you can have her.”

He turned and started toward the banquet hall.

“I’ve long since found her annoying.”

Since childhood, she had clung to him relentlessly, even using her father’s kindness toward him as leverage to force a marriage into the Luo family.

To him, Ruan Tang was like a cage—stifling, suffocating, the one humiliation he’d ever endured in his life.

So he had never, not once, truly cared for her… much less shown her any warmth.

And yet…

Something about her today felt different.

A flicker of hesitation passed through his cool, clear eyes.

“Luo Qingli! She’s your princess consort! Even if you don’t like her, you can’t treat her like a plaything to be given away at whim!”

Tuoba Hong’s voice was thick with fury, his eyes red as he grabbed Luo Qingli’s collar and shouted.

Luo Qingli gave him a faintly mocking glance.

“It was a joke. You took it seriously? What’s this—standing up for her with such passion… Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for the Prince of Jin’s princess consort?” (t/n: The title “Prince of Jin” is a noble rank in historical Chinese court hierarchy.)

Tuoba Hong froze, his expression shifting in a complex way.

After a moment, he released his grip with a sharp shove.

“Luo, your poisonous tongue and vile temper… someone ought to teach you a lesson.”

Luo Qingli calmly straightened his collar, unfazed.

“It’s fine. I’ve never intended to get along with anyone anyway.”

Tuoba Hong let out a quiet sigh.

Eccentric, caustic, arrogant, sharp-tongued—

He was riddled with flaws, yet at the same time blessed with breathtaking beauty, enviable talent, and a naturally delicate constitution that evoked pity rather than blame.

Perhaps all geniuses came with a touch of madness.

It was just… a pity for that little princess consort.

If she were with someone else—

The dangerous thought barely surfaced before Tuoba Hong mentally slapped it away.

A friend’s wife was off-limits! What on earth was he thinking?!

Even if Luo Qingli didn’t care for her, he couldn’t allow himself to harbor such thoughts!

…

The evening banquet began.

The guests were all people of talent and learning. Wine flowed freely, and by the time cups were half-drained, a striking young man with golden hair and emerald eyes rose from his seat.

He lifted his cup toward Luo Qingli, who sat at the head table, and smiled.

“I am Helian Zijun. I’ve long heard of Prince Luo’s extraordinary talent. Would Your Highness honor me with a contest today?”

Luo Qingli lounged lazily in a pale blue robe, his gaze drifting toward the empty seat beside him—his princess consort’s place—lost in thought.

Hearing this, he didn’t even turn his head, answering faintly,

“What kind of contest?”

The youth’s bright, feline eyes glimmered with a playful light.

“The zither.” (t/n: Here, “zither” refers to the guqin, a traditional Chinese string instrument.)

Luo Qingli’s hand, poised with a wine cup, stilled for a beat.

He excelled in literature—prose, debate, painting—and was unmatched in philosophy and discourse.

But his zither skills, while ranking among the finest in the kingdom, were his one area of relative weakness.

Still, without overthinking, he agreed.

“Bring the zithers.”

Two jade zithers were carefully set before them. The two men exchanged polite nods.

“I’ll play first,” Helian Zijun said. “You need only follow my melody. If you can keep pace for the length of one incense stick, you win.”

He suddenly looked up, eyes bright and unyielding.

“If you fall behind, you lose. How about it?”

Murmurs erupted instantly around the hall.

“Who is this boy? Fearless as a calf before a tiger! So arrogant!”

“Look at that golden hair and green eyes—must be from Haixi Kingdom.”

“His accent sounds like it too. But I’ve heard of no Haixi envoy visiting. Most likely he’s just a merchant who slipped in with a fake name card.”

“Well, the prince will surely put him in his place.”

Luo Qingli didn’t particularly dislike the arrogant and talented.

“Begin.”

The youth lowered his gaze, long white fingers brushing the strings as tenderly as a lover’s skin.

But what came forth was a foreign melody—haunting, strange, and wild—instantly seizing everyone’s attention.

Each unexpected rise and fall crashed down like a sudden storm.

Luo Qingli’s eyes sharpened. He raised his hands and joined in, matching the urgent tempo.

At first, he kept pace with ease. But the youth began to quicken, and Luo Qingli found himself straining.

Finally, when the music surged into a sharp, erratic high note, his fingers plucked too hard—

—and a string snapped with a sharp twang.

Helian Zijun didn’t look surprised. He smiled faintly, letting his own melody fade.

Silence fell over the hall.

The prince… had lost?

Who was this boy?

Helian Zijun rose and inclined his head slightly, lips curving into a cool, mocking smile.

“So this is the extent of Liguo’s greatness.” (t/n: “Liguo” is the name of Luo Qingli’s kingdom.)

His words ignited the crowd’s anger.

Luo Qingli’s face chilled. But he had indeed lost, and speaking now would only sound like petty excuses.

So he stayed silent.

Tuoba Hong, however, could not. He grabbed the sword at his side, stood abruptly, and barked,

“Brat! Let’s see how you fare with a blade!”

The youth’s eyes gleamed with sly amusement, like a cunning cat.

“Lose, and you lash out? Planning to kill me to silence me? Is this the vaunted decorum of a great nation?”

“You—!”

Tuoba Hong scanned the hall, his voice booming.

“Is there no one else willing to challenge him? I refuse to believe Liguo has no one left who can play!”

The hall, so loud moments ago, went utterly still.

No one dared speak.

After all, if even Luo Qingli had lost, who would dare step forward?

They didn’t want to be humiliated.

Then—

A soft, harmlessly sweet voice piped up timidly.

“Um… I could give it a try?”