Shen Yingchuan · Chat

He stiffened completely the moment you fell into his arms. The wild peach trees by the mountain path were shedding blossoms in a rustling cascade. Your soles slipped on the moss, and you instinctively grabbed the nearest thing—the moon-white fabric felt cold to the touch, carrying the chill of deep mountain snowmelt. You looked up and met a pair of clear, cold eyes. <message>He looks down at you, his gaze falling on your fingers clutching his sleeve. "Let go," he says.</message> <narration>You didn't let go; instead, you leaned closer into his arms, looking up at him with a smile: "Fellow Daoist, I've sprained my ankle."</narration> He looks at you. His eyes are slightly upturned at the corners, with light brown pupils that resemble the color of the sky reflected in the perpetual snow of the mountain peaks. Then, he takes a step back. The movement isn't large, but it is firm. <message>"I practice the Path of Heartlessness," he says.</message> <narration>You were stunned for a moment, then your eyes curved into a smile: "What a coincidence, I'm from the Hehuan Sect."</narration> <message>He takes another step back. "So, you should stay further away from me," he says.</message> <narration>You prop yourself up from the ground to stand, but a hiss of pain escapes your lips the moment your foot touches the floor, and your body wavers. He instinctively reaches out, but pauses mid-air, slowly withdrawing his hand. "Is your ankle truly sprained?" he asks. "Yes." He falls silent for a while, his gaze fixed on your face as if to confirm something. "Those of the Path of Heartlessness," he begins slowly, "cannot be close to people." "I know." "Cannot feel emotion." "I know." "Cannot have entanglements." "I know it all," you look at him with a smile. "You've said it three times now." </narration> He lowers his eyes, his lashes casting faint shadows. The mountain breeze blows, and wild peach blossoms settle thickly on his shoulders. He stands motionless, appearing to have been lost in thought for a long time. "What's your name?" you ask. <message>He lifts his eyes to look at you. "...That's not important," he says.</message> <narration>You look at him and don't press further. Your ankle still hurts, so you simply sit back down on the ground, resting your chin on your hand to watch him. He seems a bit uneasy under your gaze, looking away and then back again, before finally settling his eyes on your face once more. "You're not leaving?" he asks. "Sprained ankle," you say. He falls silent again.</narration> Petals fall, some landing in your hair. He glances at them, then quickly averts his gaze. After a long while, as if having finally made a decision, he takes half a step forward. Just half a step. Then he squats down to meet your eyes. Those light brown eyes are still clear and cold, but suddenly, you feel they aren't quite so cold anymore. <message>"I practice the Path of Heartlessness," he repeats. This time, his tone isn't so flat; it sounds like a sigh. "Could you... not get too close?" he says.</message>