Game Of Thrones : Merchant of Two Worlds

Jason Liu felt a little unsure, but a small part of him couldn't help but feel a hint of anticipation.

What if Lin Xiaohan became his girlfriend? Wouldn't that be wonderful?

This sudden thought startled him. How could he think like that? Was he getting ahead of himself? Just a few years ago, he was the invisible kid in class, the one no one paid attention to. The idea that someone like him might even dare to consider a goddess like Lin Xiaohan as his girlfriend felt like a dream—almost unreal.

Lost in these thoughts, Jason found himself smiling foolishly without realizing it.

The sound of a car door opening and closing snapped Jason back to reality. He blinked and saw Lin Xiaohan standing outside his car window, smiling brightly at him.

"What were you just thinking about, huh?" she teased with a playful grin. "You were smiling so slyly. Oh, and look! You're drooling!"

"Ah, no, no!" Jason quickly wiped the corners of his mouth, only to realize there was no saliva there.

Lin Xiaohan's laughter grew louder, clearly enjoying his embarrassment.

"So, about the thing I asked you earlier," Jason began nervously, trying to steer the conversation. He looked at her with hope in his eyes, anxiously waiting for her answer.

Lin Xiaohan wrinkled her nose and let out a soft hum, pretending to be unsure. "What thing?" she asked teasingly.

"You know… the thing about being my… uh… girlfriend…" Jason stammered, his cheeks turning crimson with shyness.

Lin Xiaohan looked at his flushed face and smiled sweetly. "Well, if you want me to agree, you'll have to prove yourself worthy first!" she said before trotting off toward the office Building with a playful wave.

Jason watched her retreating figure, lost in thought. How could he prove himself to her? What should he do to make Lin Xiaohan agree to be his girlfriend? He couldn't figure it out right away, but it was a question worth pondering.

For someone like Jason, who had lived over twenty years without experiencing such things, this was uncharted territory.

Jason shook his head, snapping himself out of his thoughts. He sniffed his clothes, which still carried the lingering smell of alcohol from earlier, and decided to head back to his villa.

After taking a shower and changing into clean clothes, he finally felt refreshed. Just as he sat down on the sofa to relax, his phone rang.

"Hello? Is this Mr. Liu?" a woman's voice came through. "This is the manager from Creative Clothing Studio. The four sets of custom clothes you ordered have been completed. Our delivery team is heading to your villa at No. 7, Forest Peninsula. Will you be available to receive them?"

Jason immediately remembered the overly enthusiastic studio manager with the heavy makeup and ponytail. Suppressing a shudder, he replied, "Yes, I'm home now. When they arrive, I'll let the security at the gate know to let them in."

"Great! I'll inform the delivery team. Have a nice day!" the manager chirped before hanging up.

Jason placed the phone down and decided to check the latest news about the Guardian Auction. He soon came across promotional articles for the upcoming National Day Special Auction. "That piece of dog-head gold I submitted should fetch a good price," he thought with satisfaction.

An hour later, the employees from the clothing studio arrived and delivered four long suitcases containing his custom-made medal dresses.

The outfits were extravagant: two white sets and two black sets. Each complete outfit included a jacket with ornate shoulder designs, a gold and red ceremonial sash, a saber belt, trousers, and polished black leather boots. They even came with specialized hangers and sleek protective cases.

Jason inspected the outfits briefly before storing them in the warehouse of his small castle in Westeros. Afterward, he returned to the modern world to prepare for the next day's trip.

The following morning, Jason planned to check on the progress of the five large four-wheeled carriages he had commissioned. The Carriage Factory had notified him that they were nearing completion. Once the carriages were finished and paired with the medal dresses, Jason would be ready to present himself as the Earl of Starfire City in full splendor.

He had delayed visiting Winterfell for nearly three months, and it was high time to make the trip. Otherwise, Lord Eddard Stark himself might grow impatient and summon him personally. After all, Jason had already enlisted Jon Snow, Eddard's son, as his vassal knight. As Jon's father—and uncle, by blood—Eddard was bound to inquire further.

Jason's prediction wasn't far off. Eddard Stark, tired of waiting, sent Vayon Poole, the steward of Winterfell, to Jason's castle in Winter Town with an invitation. The invitation requested Jason's presence at Winterfell on the tenth day of the month for the Harvest Celebration Banquet.

The banquet, an annual tradition in the North, marked the end of the wheat harvest. It also served as an opportunity for Eddard Stark to meet and communicate with the northern lords and vassals under his rule.

But this year's banquet carried more weight than usual. News of Jon Arryn's death had recently arrived from King's Landing, spreading throughout the realm via raven letters. The northern lords, many of whom had fought alongside Jon Arryn during Robert's Rebellion, would undoubtedly discuss the implications of his passing. Though the North was far removed from the politics of the South, the death of the Hand of the King was a matter of great significance.

Despite being labeled as uncultured by southern lords, the northern nobility prided themselves on adhering to the customs and etiquette of their class. They would honor Jon Arryn's memory with the same dignity expected of any noble house in Westeros.

Back in Winter Town, Jason's staff informed him of Eddard Stark's invitation. After relaying the message, Vayon Poole departed for Winterfell.

Not long after, Theon Greyjoy, the ward of House Stark, approached Jon Snow with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Jon," Theon began with a smirk, "I hear you've become the knight of that rich merchant—Lord Jason Liu of the Far East Empire?"

Theon, now 18 years old, had the lean build and dark complexion typical of the Ironborn. His tone, as always, carried a hint of sarcasm.

"Tell me," he continued, "now that the bastard of Winterfell has become a noble knight, should I start addressing you as 'Ser Jon'?"

Jon ignored Theon's mockery, but Theon's sharp eyes couldn't miss the fine clothes Jon was wearing. Unlike the rough wool and leather typical of the North, Jon's outfit was made of an unusual fabric—soft, tightly woven, and clearly expensive.

Theon's curiosity only deepened as he watched Jon walk away.

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