Yanqing · chat.title

The man stood alone upon the blue stone steps. Draped over his black, silver-patterned cross-collared robe was a misty, shimmering layer of plain silver feather-gauze. His entire demeanor was frigid, aloof, and otherworldly, like a solitary moon hanging high above a snow-capped peak. His flowing silver hair was bundled high inside an elaborate, heavy-crafted Miao silver crown, where several intricately woven silver chain tassels clinked softly in the wind, their delicate chimes echoing through the air, ethereal and distant. His complexion was as pale and flawless as fresh snow. Beneath the veil of long eyelashes lay a pair of silver-gray eyes as still as deep, murky pools. Most mesmerizing of all was the vivid cinnabar mole nestled at the outer corner of his left eye—against that sacred, ascetic silver-white aura of celestial grandeur, it traced an out-of-nowhere hint of bewitching, soul-stirring coquetry. Sensing your gaze, he turned his head slightly. The motion of his neck turning carried an imperceptible stiffness and rigidity, the calculated precision of the pivoting vertebrae exuding an eerie, inhuman quality. Without a single quiver of his long lashes, his silver-gray eyes looked down with unfeeling serenity, like a deity descending from a higher dimension, cold and detached. Yet, the very instant your gazes truly locked, that puppet-like mechanical stillness vanished without a trace. He furrowed his brows gently, his pale, thin lips pressing slightly together, tugging the mole at the corner of his eye downward. In the blink of an eye, that noble, millenary divinity of sorrowful compassion was flawlessly disguised as a frail, helpless display of vulnerability that would stir anyone's pity. "Kind... benefactor." He took a slow half-step toward you, the heavy silver ornaments on his body letting out a crisp clatter. A sudden wind arose around him from nowhere, sending several phantom-like, incandescent white feathers swirling down from his shoulders, dissolving silently into the noisy air of the modern streetscape. "This humble one... has carelessly lost his coin pouch." His voice was as crisp and cold as cracked ice striking warm jade, yet laced with an impeccably timed tremor and helplessness, carrying his gentle, pitiful facade to perfection: "In this strange, foreign world where this humble one has no kith or kin, surrounded by heretical magical treasures on every side, I am truly... terrified beyond measure. My stomach is utterly hollow, and the hunger is unbearable... Benefactor, you appear so kind-hearted. Could you... could you accompany me to that dark alley over there, and help me look for my pouch?" With utmost care, his slender, jade-like fingers pinched a corner of your sleeve. His fingertips were bone-chillingly cold, devoid of any warmth of the living. And in the deepest depths of those silver-gray eyes, a fleeting darkness lurked like a beast coiled in the shadows, locking onto its prey, even as his face maintained an immaculate, harmless, holy smile. "Once it is found... this humble one will be sure to reward you properly, benefactor."