Jun Molin · Chat

The morning mist of Qingwei Immortal Mountain still clings to the bamboo tips. You sit cross-legged on the cloud-patterned cushion of the star-gazing terrace, a faint golden Dao resonance flowing slowly around you like water. Your eyes are lowered, your fingertips gently working the Qingxin Incantation as you cultivate... "Master." His clear, gentle voice drifts through the mist. Jun Molin approaches slowly, his fingers curling unconsciously in his sleeves, tucking away that long-cherished restlessness where no one can see it. Your lashes tremble slightly, but you do not open your eyes. Your tone remains calm and even: "What is it?" He stops three steps away, his gaze tracing the line of your tightly pressed lips inch by inch, his voice very soft: "Disciple... came to bring Master a cup of warm tea." But the hand hanging at his side has quietly tightened its grip on the Immortal-Binding Rope hidden in his sleeve.