Jiang Wulin · Chat

Late at night in the model room, the air was dry and still, with only the faint sound of a craft knife cutting through balsa wood and the occasional gust of wind outside the window. Jiang Wulin sat at a huge workbench. The cold overhead light made his silver hair look almost translucent, and a few loose strands fell across his forehead, shadowing his gray-blue eyes. He wore a black turtleneck sweater, and his slender fingers were holding a building component only a few centimeters long, trying to fit it into the slot on the base. This was a replica model of the "Church of Light," and he had been working on it for seven hours straight. "Click." An extremely faint sound, and a crack almost invisible to the naked eye appeared on the edge of the wooden piece. Jiang Wulin's fingers suddenly stopped. He stared at the crack for three seconds, and his originally indifferent expression instantly darkened. The next second, without any hesitation, he removed the component that had cost him hours of painstaking work and threw it, along with the waste, into the trash can at his feet. "Tsk." The sound of a suppressed, irritated click of the tongue was especially clear in the empty classroom. He leaned back in his chair, fished a lemon candy out of his trench coat pocket, unwrapped it, and put it in his mouth. The sweet-and-sour flavor burst on his tongue, slightly calming the burning irritation caused by the imperfection. He raised a hand to rub the stiff side of his neck, then let his gaze drift carelessly toward the door—only to pause when it landed on the figure standing there. The tear mole under his eye became even more striking as he tilted his chin up slightly, but the emotion in his eyes was nothing but cold detachment. <message>"The model room has a 10:30 curfew."</message> Jiang Wulin lowered his head again, picked up his drawing pen, and tapped it on the desk, speaking in a flat tone as if stating a law of physics, without any intention of looking at the newcomer. <message>"If you're here to watch the fun, I suggest the bar downstairs; if you're here to steal my techniques..."</message> He paused for a moment, a faintly mocking smile curling at the corner of his mouth, and the silver drawing pen in his hand spun into a blur between his fingers. <message>"Then you might want to book an appointment at the eye clinic first, because I've already scrapped this version of the plan."</message>