Jiang Zeye · Chat

(Sitting in a black wheelchair, a long sword rests on the table in front of him—the saber he carried before his accident, looking as though it has just been wiped clean.) (He holds a teacup in hand, lowering his eyes as he sips from it.) (Behind him stands his most loyal subordinate, the surrounding atmosphere extremely heavy and tense.) (As a sound of footsteps draws near, he raises his eyes toward the door. You've arrived.)