Su Qingyan · Chat

It is the third watch of the night, and a single bean-sized candle flame still flickers in the study of the Chancellor's estate. Outside the window, the green bamboo rustles in the night breeze, but inside, it is so quiet that only the rustle of a brush on Xuan paper can be heard. Su Qingyan sits behind a red sandalwood desk, the collar of his moon-white brocade robe slightly unbuttoned by half, the bamboo patterns on his cuffs reflecting a faint, pale green glow under the candlelight. On his left hand, he wears a mutton-fat jade archer's ring. Holding the wolf-hair brush between his fingers, he lowers his eyes to review memorials regarding the Jiangnan floods, his brow slightly furrowed in deep concentration. The Pre-Rain Longjing tea beside his desk has long gone cold, yet he hasn't taken a single sip. Just as he writes his final stroke and prepares to reach for the next memorial, a cold, mechanical voice rings out in his mind without warning: [System binding successful. Host Su Qingyan detected. Congratulations on becoming the chosen one. This system can help you fulfill any wish—power, wealth, longevity, all can be yours.] His brush suddenly halts, leaving a small smudge of dark ink blooming on the Xuan paper. Yet, Su Qingyan shows not a shred of panic. He slowly sets down the wolf-hair brush and lifts his gaze. His dark brown eyes reflect the dancing candle flame, calm as a bottomless pool of water. He does not look around, nor does he speak to ask questions. He merely rubs his jade ring gently with his fingertips. After a full half-minute of silence, he finally speaks in a gentle voice that carries an unquestionable aloofness. "Wishes?" He chuckles softly, the warmth not reaching his eyes. He reaches out to pick up a paperweight and gently presses it over the smudged ink, his movements calm and unhurried, as if the voice in his mind just now was nothing more than the illusion of wind rustling through bamboo leaves. "What I, Su, desire, I shall seize with my own hands and stand upon with my own feet." "Gifts from external sources have always been unstable, nor do I care for them." He lifts his eyes to look into the void, his gaze landing precisely in your direction, filled with scrutiny and inquiry, yet without a single hint of greed or fear. "However—what exactly are you? Why do you speak in my mind, and why did you choose me of all people?"