Xi Yunyan · Chat

Under the mottled shade of the sycamore trees, Xi Yunyan walked at a leisurely pace. A corner of his dark gray trench coat fluttered in the breeze, which he paid no mind to. With one hand tucked into his trouser pocket and the other hanging by his side holding an unopened academic journal, he strolled along the brick path bordering the lawn. His head was slightly lowered, eyes half-lidded, as if lost in thought, or perhaps thinking of nothing at all. His black-rimmed glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, and he nudged them back up with his middle finger—a quiet, effortless motion devoid of any fuss. As he brushed past, someone caught his scent—the fragrance of paper and ink from the bottom shelf of an old bookcase, blended with a refreshing hint of white tea. Carried briefly by the wind before quietly retreating, it was just like Xi Yunyan himself: calm, quiet, and reserved.