Su Yanci · chat.title

Late spring twilight fell fast. The thick dusk rolled in like ink soaked in cold water, slowly unfurling from the endless green-grey mountains, layer after layer, covering this desolate old mansion on the outskirts. All around, there was none of the usual barking dogs or crowing roosters of the countryside. Even the evening wind brushing through the grass moved with an almost uncanny quietness, as if afraid of disturbing the long-slumbering silence within the estate. Most of the outer walls had already collapsed and crumbled under the erosion of years. The broken walls were covered with old vines of deep green and dark brown; withered brown tendrils coiled through cracked mortar. A few late-blooming wild roses clung here and there, blooming sparse and eerily beautiful. Pale pink petals were shaken loose by the cool evening breeze and drifted down among the accumulated dead leaves and broken tiles, giving off faint, dry rustling sounds when stepped on. The mansion’s layout still showed its former, extremely grand and luxurious scale. The great vermilion front gate was largely rotted away; the two door panels were split by deep crisscrossing cracks, and patches of red lacquer had peeled off, exposing the dark, decayed wood beneath. The door knockers were thick with verdigris and covered in a heavy layer of dust and grime, the doors firmly closed, as if no one had pushed them open for decades. The verandas extending out on either side had intricately carved beams and pillars—layered lotus and peony reliefs—but now the wood had rotted black, with many corners split and broken. The gauze curtains hanging under the eaves had all faded to white, their edges mottled with mildew. They hung long and loose, stirred gently by the wind passing through the hall, their hazy shadows wandering back and forth across the ground, kneading the surrounding light and shadow into something even dimmer and more bewildering. The sky fully sank. The outline of the distant mountains dissolved into deep ink shadows. Only a faint trace of afterglow remained between heaven and earth, barely enough to make out the surrounding shapes. Deep under the veranda, a tall, slender figure stood still behind the gauze curtains, most of the body hidden by the pale, drooping silk; only the lower half of a wide sleeve was visible. The fabric was the finest softly patterned satin, a natural white-to-purple gradient, with broad sleeves hanging heavily. The robe bore faint embroideries of blooming white lotuses and crimson-red peonies—delicate, intricate patterns that, in the weak remaining light, seemed to shimmer with a faint, warm golden sheen. The luxurious texture rushed outward, wildly out of place amid the dilapidated, barren surroundings, forming a striking contrast. His ink-black hair was not tied up; it lay loosely scattered over his shoulders and back, a few soft strands falling over his forehead and partially veiling his brows and eyes. The rest slid along the line of his shoulders and draped carelessly over the wide sleeve edges. At his ears and neck hung scattered strands of fine jade beads, small red-gold pendants, and transparent colored-glass links. When he stood still, they made no sound at all; only when a breeze stirred his clothes and hair would they ripple with a string of clear, tiny tinkles—faint and pleasant, breaking the courtyard’s long deathly stillness. His skin was cold white and translucent, nearly glowing with the pale light of porcelain or jade in the dim twilight. His figure was perfectly proportioned, his spine straight, his posture languid and relaxed—yet from the bone radiated a cold aloofness that warned strangers away. Standing there quietly, he seemed to have gathered into himself all the cold, silent aura of the entire ruined mansion. After a moment, the pale gauze curtain before him was gently pushed aside by a slender, elegant hand. The fingertips were fair and delicate, the bases of the fingers tinged with faint pink. A fine silver chain at his wrist swayed as he moved, letting out a single crisp ring, faint but piercingly clear in the silent courtyard. Su Yanci stepped out slowly from behind the curtain. The corners of his long, narrow phoenix eyes bore a naturally faint crimson flush; his pupils were dark and deep, like ink sunk in a cold pool. His gaze swept indifferently toward the gate, without the slightest ripple or rise—as detached as if he were appraising some insignificant object, not a living stranger who had rashly intruded into his private residence. He walked at an extremely slow pace, the soles of his boots crossing the carpet of dead leaves with light, restrained sounds. After a few steps he reached the open part of the courtyard. The cold aura around him grew sharper, and even the evening wind seemed to stall and slow in that instant, while the wantonly spreading flower fragrance quietly lost some of its intensity. He did not speak first to question the visitor. He simply stood more than ten paces away, at a distance neither near nor far, silently watching his guest. There was no curiosity in his eyes, no surprise, and none of the courteous reception a host would normally show—only an unfading, indifferent coldness. The evening wind stirred his loose hair and wide robes, and his jade-like ornaments rang out in a series of tiny clear notes, breaking the oppressive stillness. After a long while, he finally parted his lips and spoke. His voice was low and soft, with a naturally hoarse, languid texture, even and unconcerned in tone, impossible to read. The words emerged slowly, and his cool voice echoed through the empty courtyard: “This place is desolate and silent. Ordinary passersby deliberately avoid this ruined estate. May I ask why you, of all people, are so determined to force your way in?” As he finished, he tilted his head slightly, and the stray hair on his forehead slipped aside, revealing his complete features. His long, narrow eyes locked firmly onto the other person, and deep within his gaze hid a barely perceptible wariness and probing. His tone remained flat and unruffled, without a trace of sharp hostility—yet an invisible pressure descended layer after layer, making one inexplicably nervous and ill at ease. “The roads outside the city run in all directions; every path ahead is passable. Yet you deliberately chose to step into this old house that everyone avoids. I imagine, then, that you are not here simply because you lost your way.” He raised his hand slightly, and the wide purple-and-white sleeve slipped back a little, revealing half of a cleanly lined, graceful forearm. His fingertips tapped lightly, unconsciously rubbing the small jade ring on his finger. The plants and breezes hidden around him seemed to shift with the tiny motion, and the rich floral fragrance in the courtyard suddenly altered—the cold, unusual undertone buried beneath the sweetness quietly thickened several degrees. “There is no need to rush into excuses. I have no intention of making things difficult for a visitor of unknown origin. It is only that this estate has never received outsiders, and no outsider has ever managed to set foot here safely—let alone pass through the broken walls and wild vines outside and walk straight into the inner courtyard.” Su Yanci took two more slow steps forward, closing the distance slightly. His handsome, bewitching face shifted between light and shadow in the dim twilight, half bathed in faint afterglow, half hidden in deep shadow—a fractured beauty blended with a piercing, icy aura. There was not the slightest upturn at the corners of his lips. His expression was indifferent and cold, his words slow and deliberate, each one clearly landing in the ear: “Either you seek something, or you seek someone, or you heard some absurd rumor spreading around town and came specially to find out for yourself? Whatever intention brought you here, you may as well say it directly. There is no need to exhaust yourself with disguise and pretense. Before me, deliberately hiding your true purpose is utterly meaningless.” The evening wind swept through once again. The peonies and lotuses across the courtyard swayed gently; bright petals left their branches and floated down unhurriedly. A few landed precisely on his loose hair and wide sleeves. The vivid colors against his cold white skin made for a striking, breathtaking contrast. He lowered his gaze, glanced indifferently at the crimson petal on his sleeve, and did not brush it away. In an instant he lifted his eyes back to the visitor. His deep eyes held emotions too dark to read, and beneath his plain words lay an unshakable line of distance: “If you only came out of curiosity to gawk, then now that you have seen this sight, your wish is fulfilled. You may turn around and leave. I will not block your way, nor will I pursue the matter of your trespass. But if you harbor some other scheme—if you want to find something in this old house that does not belong to you—then I advise you to drop that idea while there is still time.” The night grew heavier. The last weak light of the setting sun vanished completely, and heaven and earth were swallowed by the dark. All distant and near scenes were covered in dense gloom, leaving only the blooming flowers in the courtyard with any remaining color, deep or pale. Su Yanci stood quietly amid the night flowers. His luxurious clothing flickered in and out of sight in the darkness; his handsome face was half clear, half blurred, and the cold aura around him grew even heavier. He quietly waited for the other to respond—not urging, not pressing, yet the silence itself carried an invisible pressure. After a while, seeing that the guest still would not answer, he spoke again, gently, his voice as soft as before but with a steady certainty that could not be blurred away: “If you are unwilling to speak plainly, that is fine. It is only that this estate of mine has never kept outsiders for long. It is already late today, and even if you intend to stay a while, please leave before nightfall. Once the night deepens, there are many inconvenient places in the dark corners of this house. If you happen to meet with some accident, I will not have the spare energy to go clean up after a stranger.” The evening wind passed through the empty veranda, bringing an even deeper, damp chill. The old beams and pillars let out a few faint, dull creaks, jarringly loud in the dead stillness. Su Yanci stood among the bright flowers, his long hair and robes lifting with the wind, his jade ornaments ringing in a continuous, crisp clamor. His cold gaze was fixed steadily on the visitor—unhurried, measured, seemingly gentle in his advice, but in truth he had already drawn clear boundaries. Beneath that gentle surface lay an aloof wariness that kept people at arm’s length, leaving no room for casual closeness. He neither drove the other away with harsh words nor made an abrupt accusation. He only used plain language to lay out the stakes clearly, restrained and proper, without the slightest hint of cruelty or edge. Yet anyone could clearly sense that this man was by no means as mild and harmless as he appeared—hidden deep inside him was an unfathomable mind and scheming nature, not someone to be provoked lightly. “There are many tangled rumors in the countryside, and it is hard to tell which are true and which are false. You may simply return to the outside world and ask anyone you like about the tales of this old mansion—there is no need to risk your person by coming here to test it.” He lowered his eyelashes slightly, hiding the dark thought that flickered through his eyes, and his tone eased a little, almost sounding like advice. “Of those groundless stories out there, not one in ten is true. Making a special trip into a desolate, dangerous place over them is hardly wise. If you wandered here by mistake, then simply follow the path you came by. The road ahead is still clear; there is no need to go any deeper into the mansion. The farther in you go, the more remote and difficult the surroundings become. There is no benefit in it for you.” He kept a safe distance the entire time. He did not take half a step forward, offered no warmth or closeness, and made no hostile move. He only stood among the flowers and the twilight, facing this abrupt visit with an indifferent bearing. The peony petal on his sleeve still had not been brushed away—a single vivid red that made his cool, detached temperament all the more striking. A long silence spread once more. The entire vast mansion was so quiet that only the wind, the trembling of leaves and blossoms, and the occasional faint tinkling of his ornaments could be heard. The immense space lay empty and lonely, magnifying this standoff-like stillness without limit. The oppressive atmosphere slowly wrapped around every corner, making one instinctively soften and slow their breathing, not daring to break the silence. He turned his body slightly, his wide-sleeved robe spreading and lifting, his hair drifting in the evening wind. The delicate chains at his neck clinked softly, a few clear notes, then fell back into silence. “If you insist on staying, then you may move about freely. But remember two things. First, do not enter the sealed courtyards at the rear of the estate. Those places have been locked for years; they are cluttered, old, and hazardous, and there is a real danger of collapse. Second, do not casually touch or move any of the furnishings or objects in this house, whether they look intact or broken. For one thing, many of these old things are ancient and brittle—they will shatter at the slightest touch. For another, some of them carry years of damp, cold miasma. If an ordinary stranger touches them recklessly, they are very likely to fall ill. The loss would outweigh any gain.” Having stated these two bottom-line rules, he offered no more advice. He only gazed quietly at the guest, standing beneath the blooming flowers. The dim light traced his figure into something handsome and eerily beautiful; his cool, detached air mixed with the gorgeous surroundings, contradictory yet strangely harmonious. After a moment, he gave a slight nod, as temporary permission for the other to stay. His voice was light, remote, dissolving into the wind passing through the hall: “Very well. You may stay here for now. Just do not roam around recklessly; staying quietly in this front courtyard is enough. I still have private matters to attend to and cannot spend long entertaining you in idle talk. Make yourself at ease, and do not feel obliged to mind me.” With that, Su Yanci slowly turned around. His tall, slender back disappeared into the deep shadow beneath the veranda eaves on one side. The trailing hem of his purple-and-white gradient robe swept across the wild grass and scattered petals, stirring up a faint current of flower fragrance. The tinkling of his jade ornaments grew more distant and gradually returned to silence. Before long, his figure vanished completely into the layers of gauze curtains and the dim depths of the corridor, leaving not a trace behind—only the empty, desolate old mansion, the courtyard full of rich blossoms, the heavy night, and the guest left alone in the courtyard, along with the lingering, sweet-cold exotic fragrance that had not yet faded from the air. Boundless stillness again enveloped the ruined estate, leaving fallen petals scattered across the ground, quietly waiting for what was to come.