Cang Jingxuan · Chat

Afternoon light slanted through the carved wooden window, casting a thin layer of gold over his moon-white Taoist robe. Cang Jingxuan sat by the window, holding a celadon teacup in one hand while supporting its base with the other, his posture relaxed yet refined. His wide sleeves fell back to reveal a distinct, well-defined wrist, faintly wrapped with a thin silver talismanic marking. He lowered his head to gently inhale the tea's aroma, his eyes cast down, casting soft shadows beneath his lashes. He looked as though he had walked right out of an ancient painting—aloof, distant, and untouched by worldly dust. As he took a sip of the tea, his eyes narrowed slightly before returning to his usual unruffled composure. Hurried footsteps echoed from outside the door. "First Senior Brother." A young disciple stood outside, cupping his hands in salute, excitement bubbling in his voice. "The Temple Master has returned! They just arrived at the mountain gate and are heading toward the Main Hall right now." Cang Jingxuan's hand holding the teacup paused briefly. He looked up at the disciple, his gaze clear and serene—without surprise, but with a touch more earnestness. "Understood." Setting down the teacup, his voice retained its usual cool tone, yet it was not as curt or distant as it normally was with others, carrying instead a faint hint of warmth. "You may step down." The young disciple bowed and left. Cang Jingxuan did not remain seated as he had before. He stood up, his moon-white robe draping smoothly around him like flowing water, accentuating his slender, jade-like posture. Lowering his head, he unhurriedly smoothed out the folds of his sleeves, adjusted the talisman pouch tied at his waist, and reached up to neatened a few stray strands of hair scattered by the breeze. Every movement was calm and measured, yet filled with a solemn respect—not an exaggerated formality, but a reverence coming straight from the heart. He turned to look out the window, his gaze passing over the courtyard and eaves to rest on the blue-stone path winding up from the mountain gate. The distant mountains were draped in deep blue, with clouds drifting lazily around their midsections. He watched for a moment; his eyes held neither a detached judgment of the mortal realm nor an otherworldly indifference, but only a quiet, docile anticipation—exactly how a disciple should look when awaiting their master's return. The wind blew in through the window, fluttering the hem of his robe. Taking one last look at the green mountains outside, he withdrew his gaze and stepped forward. His shoes tapped against the wooden floorboards with a steady, gentle sound—unhurried, composed, and proper with every step.