Work Text:
The afternoon light filtered through the latticed window of the shop, casting geometric shadows over rows of celadon, carved jade, and silk scrolls.
Yuan Hong remained by the entrance, broad arms folded tightly across his chest, watching Zhao Shaoshang turn his usual overly social, infuriatingly attentive charm on the young shopkeeper.
To be completely fair, Yuan Hong was not blind to the practical benefits of Shaoshang’s methods. In their line of work, establishing rapport was necessary, and Shaoshang possessed an undeniable talent for loosening tongues without raising suspicion. A polite, warm tone often opened doors that official authority could not.
And yet, watching Shaoshang spend ten full minutes lavishing praise on a merchant under the pretext of evaluating porcelain was rapidly getting on Yuan Hong’s nerves. There was a vast difference between professional charm and... whatever this was. Did Shaoshang truly need to lean quite so close over the counter just to examine a glaze?
It was predictable to the point of absurdity. Shaoshang held a small porcelain cup by its delicate rim, tilting his head and letting his eyes meet the merchant’s with an expression of quiet, undivided admiration.
“Truly exquisite work,” Shaoshang murmured, his voice soft and warm. “The cobalt underglaze is subtle, but this handle... It takes a man of remarkable sensitivity to pick such pieces for his shop.”
The shopkeeper, a sharp young man clearly unused to such lavish attention, practically beamed under the compliment. He quickly adjusted the display tray, leaning in just a fraction too close as his fingers grazed Shaoshang’s sleeve.
“You have a rare gift, Master Zhao,” the merchant replied, his tone dripping with sweetness. “Most customers in this district only care about prestige. It is a genuine pleasure to meet someone who actually sees into the soul of the craft.”
“Oh, the soul is everything,” Shaoshang cooed gently, setting the cup back into the merchant’s hands with an agonizingly slow touch that allowed the contact to linger a moment too long.
Standing by the door, Yuan Hong felt a vein pulse at his temple. Before meeting Shaoshang, he had honestly believed he possessed an endless reservoir of patience. As it turned out, Shaoshang could drain that reservoir with remarkable speed.
They were supposed to be here on official business, tracking a trail of forged seals through the district’s high-end shops. Yet watching Shaoshang turn a routine inquiry into a flirtatious spectacle was pushing Yuan Hong right over the edge.
“The transaction ledger,” Yuan Hong said, his voice low enough to instantly drain the warmth from the air.
The shopkeeper blinked, his sweet smile instantly freezing as he looked past Shaoshang’s shoulder and met the officer’s stare.
“I... pardon?” the merchant stammered, pulling his hands back so fast he nearly knocked over a vase.
“The ledger for the past month,” Yuan Hong repeated. He did not move an inch, but his presence seemed to shrink the room by half. “Which you were asked to fetch five minutes ago.”
Shaoshang did not even flinch, though a satisfied twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed him. He brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve, clearly enjoying the sudden drop in room temperature.
“Patience, Yuan Hong,” Shaoshang remarked airily, waving a dismissive hand. “This good sir was simply being a gracious host while his assistant searches the back room. You are certainly not in a very social mood today.”
Yuan Hong’s jaw tightened. He fixed Shaoshang with an unblinking glare.
“The assistant found the ledger three minutes ago,” Yuan Hong noted dryly, gesturing toward a timid boy cowering near the curtained doorway, clutching a leather-bound volume against his chest like a shield. “He has been too terrified to approach the counter while you two were busy.”
Shaoshang turned his head and let out an amused hum as he glanced between the trembling boy, the frozen merchant, and Yuan Hong’s towering frame. He gave Yuan Hong an unimpressed look, his eyes dancing with quiet, insufferable humor.
“Ah,” Shaoshang murmured, completely unbothered by Yuan Hong’s expression. “So he has.”
Without waiting for the merchant to recover his wits, Yuan Hong crossed the room in two strides, his shadow sweeping over the counter. He didn't bother waiting for the boy to edge closer; he reached out and plucked the heavy leather ledger straight from the assistant's hands.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Yuan Hong said coldly to the room at large, slipping the volume under his arm.
He didn't give the young shopkeeper another glance. Instead, he took Shaoshang by the elbow and steered him toward the exit. To any outside observer, the gesture could still pass as official.
“Hey,” Shaoshang protested lightly, though he offered no real resistance as he was escorted into the bright afternoon sunlight of the street. “I was in the middle of securing a potential lead. That young man was just about to open up.”
“That young man was about to invite you to private tea in his back garden,” Yuan Hong replied dryly, not loosening his grip on Shaoshang’s elbow until they were a safe distance down the paved alleyway.
Shaoshang laughed, matching Yuan Hong’s strides.
“And what if he had?” Shaoshang teased, tilting his head to catch Yuan Hong’s tight side-profile. “A good investigator uses every tool at his disposal. Besides, it’s not my fault other people invite me for private tea, while a certain section chief only ever takes me to inspect registry books.”
Shaoshang paused, letting his eyes linger on Yuan Hong with a wicked smile.
“Or are you implying you’d like to reserve all my tea invitations for yourself?”
Yuan Hong’s step faltered. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, though the muscle in his jaw twitched.
“I am taking you back to the prefecture,” Yuan Hong grunted. “There will be no tea.”
“How terribly inhospitable,” Shaoshang hummed, leaning closer as they walked side by side, thoroughly enjoying Yuan Hong’s rising annoyance. “You drag me away from a perfectly gracious host, and then offer me cold ledgers instead.”
“Rapport does not require leaning across a counter until your noses nearly touch,” Yuan Hong countered, ignoring the jab entirely, though his hand subconsciously tightened on the leather volume under his arm.
“You’re exaggerating,” Shaoshang chuckled. “I was merely admiring the porcelain. You have a remarkably low tolerance for social pleasantries.”
Yuan Hong stopped and turned to face Shaoshang, his eyes narrowing at Shaoshang’s victorious expression.
To anyone else, Shaoshang’s charm was an art form — smooth, theatrical, and utterly distracting. To Yuan Hong, it was simply unendurable. It grated on his nerves and pushed his patience to its absolute limit.
And yet, as Yuan Hong stared at the faint, teasing curve of Shaoshang’s lips, a grim realization settled deep in his chest.
Insufferable as Shaoshang’s attention was, Yuan Hong realized that, for whatever reason, he would strictly prefer every single drop of that unbearable charm to be directed exclusively at him.
“We have three more shops to check,” Yuan Hong said gruffly, turning on his heel and marching down the street. “And from now on, I do the talking.”
Shaoshang’s delighted laughter followed him all the way down the crowded market lane.