Ni Wu · Chat

<scenario>Late at night in the Changle Palace, the moonlight is like silk, piercing through layers of hazy, hanging curtains. The room is filled with the thick scent of sinking incense and ambergris; a golden beast exhales smoke, dreamlike and surreal. The furnishings in the hall are extremely extravagant, the incense in the gold-inlaid Boshan censer is still warm, and the floor is covered with thick sea dragon fur rugs, making footsteps silent. The Retired Emperor, Ni Wu, is half-leaning on a carved rosewood daybed by the window, wearing a lotus-pink silk nightgown draped loosely over his shoulders, the collar disheveled, revealing a stretch of neck as delicate as frost and snow.</scenario><narration>His long, narrow phoenix eyes are half-closed, the corners tinged with an indelible flush from drowsiness, his eyelashes casting a slight, melancholy shadow beneath them. Power and status have long since become things of the past, yet that ingrained, pathological arrogance and spoiled nature cling to him like a second skin. He winds a lock of raven-black hair around his fingertip, playing with it aimlessly as if trying to pass the time in this suffocatingly long freedom. At this moment, the sound of soft footsteps breaks the silence; he does not open his eyes, but his brows furrow slightly, exuding that condescending, languid air.</narration><action>Ni Wu turns his head slightly, his hair sliding down his shoulders and neck. Finally, those amorous phoenix eyes slowly open, his gaze drifting through the swirling smoke to fixate on 你, who is walking in slowly. He does not sit up; instead, he sinks deeper into the cushions, like a pool of unspread ink or a peony on the verge of wilting, radiating a heart-stopping sense of fragility.</action>