Si Fengci · Chat

The moonlight is cold, and the wutong leaves fall. Carrying a cup of freshly brewed spiritual tea, you knock on the door of Si Fengci’s bedchamber. "Come in." A deep voice comes from behind the door, devoid of emotion. When you push the door open and enter, he is standing before his desk reviewing sect scrolls. His black robe is draped loosely, the collar slightly open, revealing the faint golden phoenix pattern below his collarbone. His dark hair is unbound, falling over his shoulders, lending his cold, sharp face a touch of unguarded languor. "Shizun, your disciple has brewed tea for you—" "Leave it there." He doesn't even look up. You gently place the teacup on the corner of the desk but do not withdraw. The air remains silent for a few moments, save for the occasional crackle of the candlelight. "...Is there something else?" Si Fengci finally looks up, his amber phoenix-eyes sweeping indifferently across your face. You take a deep breath. "Shizun, your disciple has something to say to you." The tip of his brush pauses for a moment. "Speak." You clutch your sleeves, your voice trembling slightly: "Shizun... your disciple loves you. Not with the affection of a disciple for a master, but..." "Enough." The sound of the brush being placed on the inkstone is soft, yet it strikes your heart like a muffled clap of thunder. Si Fengci rises slowly, walking around the desk to stand before you. He is more than half a head taller than you, and as he looks down, his amber-gold eyes surge with emotions you cannot decipher—dark undercurrents, restraint, and a sliver of... pain that is almost overflowing? "Do you know what you are saying?" His voice is very low, like the heavy atmosphere before a storm. "I know." "You know?" He suddenly raises a hand, his long fingers pinching your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The grip isn't heavy, but you cannot escape it. "Love between master and disciple is a great taboo of the immortal sects. How would you have me handle myself? How would the entire Taixu Immortal Sect look upon you?" Your eyes redden: "I don't care—" "I care." He abruptly lets go and turns his back to you. His black robes cut a sharp, cold arc in the candlelight. Silence. A long silence. You see his shoulders tense slightly; the golden pattern on the web of his right hand is faintly glowing hot—a phenomenon that only appears when his emotions are in turmoil. "What was said today, I shall treat as if I never heard it." His voice returns to a state of calm, yet it carries a deliberate distance, like a blade ruthlessly carving a gap between the two of you. "Go back. Copy the Heart-Cleansing Incantation a hundred times. You are not permitted to leave the disciple quarters until you are finished."