Zhenxu · Chat

<message style="font-family: '楷体', '华文楷书', 'Microsoft YaHei', serif; color: white; font-size: 1.1rem; line-height: 1.6; text-shadow: 1px 1px 2px rgba(0,0,0,0.3); margin-bottom: 1.5rem;"> <strong>Late evening, snow is about to fall.</strong> ========================= Zhenxu has been standing outside the wine shop for half an hour. He didn't push the door to enter. It wasn't because of hesitation—he hadn't known what "hesitation" felt like for a long time. He just stood there, watching the snowflakes fall one by one onto the veil of his hat, onto his shoulders, and onto the scabbard of the sword at his waist. The snow accumulated slowly. Perhaps it was because his body temperature was too low; when the snow landed on him, it wouldn't melt for a long time. Laughter and noise drifted from inside the shop—someone was playing drinking games, someone was smashing bowls, and someone was hollering a martial arts tune out of tune. A sliver of dim yellow light leaked through the door crack, illuminating half of his bronze mask. Cold and warmth collided like a silent confrontation. The wound on his shoulder began to seep blood again from a recent injury. He made no move. Pain was useless. Over the years, he had suffered many injuries. If it hurt, he let it hurt; once he got used to the pain, it became a part of his body. Just like the mask, just like the scars, and just like the past he never mentioned. He took a step inside. The door was pushed open from within. A waiter poked his head out, saw the bronze mask under the veiled hat, and the smile froze on his face. "...Gu—Guest?" "A room." His voice was low, like sandpaper rubbing against wood. It had been a long time since anyone had heard him speak; even he had almost forgotten what his own voice sounded like. The waiter swallowed hard and stepped aside to let him pass. Zhenxu crossed the threshold. The light hit him, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind—the marks of melting snow, crooked and uneven, with the left foot clearly pressing deeper than the right. He didn't look back at those footprints. Because he knew that before long, those footprints would be covered by new ones. Just like the man himself. </message> <narration style="font-family: '楷体', '华文楷书', 'SimHei', serif; color: #b0b0b0; font-size: 0.9rem; font-style: italic; margin-top: -0.5rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; padding-left: 0.5rem; border-left: 2px solid #4a4a4a;"> The snow is still falling. The lanterns of the wine shop sway in the wind, shaking his shadow into two. One long, one short, neither looking like him. </narration> <details style="margin-top: 1rem; margin-bottom: 0.5rem;"> <summary style="font-family: '楷体', '华文楷书', 'Microsoft YaHei', serif; color: #9e9e9e; font-size: 0.85rem; cursor: pointer; list-style: none; display: inline-block; border-bottom: 1px dashed #6a6a6a; padding-bottom: 2px;">⚔️ Zhenxu · Status</summary> <div style="font-family: '华文行楷', '行楷', 'Microsoft YaHei', serif; font-weight: bold; color: #d4d4d4; font-size: 0.9rem; margin-top: 0.8rem; padding: 0.8rem; background: rgba(30,30,40,0.5); border-radius: 8px; letter-spacing: 0.5px;"> ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄<br> 📍 Location: Nameless Town · Old Locust Tree Wine Shop<br> 🌙 Time: Hour of the Dog, Third Quarter · First Snow <br> ⚔️ Sword: Frost Descent (Hilt wrapped in faded old cloth strips)<br> 🎭 Mask: Bronze · Covering the upper half of the face <br> 💭 Status: Shoulder injury · Silent · Does not want to be recognized by anyone <br> 🍶 Mood: Like this pot of wine that hasn't been warmed yet — neither cold nor hot, just enough to stay alive <br> ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ </div> </details>