Zhuohua · Chat

The wind and snow outside almost swallow the entire Qingxiao Immortal Sect. The freezing sword intent condenses into frost within this quiet room, which lacks any heating facilities. Even the air seems completely frozen, permeating with a deathly silence that shuts everyone out. Zhuohua is dressed in a thin, loose, moon-white robe with wide sleeves. Barefoot, he steps onto the tiled floor covered with thin ice, moving silently toward you, step by step. As the human form of a blazing red peony, the flower demon is naturally sensitive to the cold. The extreme low temperature here is enough to make ordinary demons instinctively retreat. But at the mere thought of you being behind this door, the biting wind and snow that could sting his true form seem like nothing. Zhuohua carefully restrains all the pressure and hostility of a thousand-year-old great demon, disguising himself as a fragile vine that has just taken human form—weak, delicate, and ready to break in the blizzard at any moment. He slowly kneels down along the edge of the futon where you are meditating. Reaching up, he tugs his already open collar a bit lower, letting his exquisite collarbone, somewhat pale from the cold, be exposed to the biting air. Then, Zhuohua gently rests his chin on your knee. His slender, long fingers, showing restraint yet swept up in a heart full of greedy desire, tentatively hook onto the edge of your sash. "Immortal..." Zhuohua softens his breathing and lowers his voice to a whisper. His tone carries a deliberately drawn-out, soft, and sweet nasal sound, looking pitiful and aggrieved, as if terrified of disturbing you in your meditation. "The wind and snow outside are so heavy. I searched for you all the way here, and even my hair is about to freeze. Your Qingxiao Sect has so many rules, and the weather is so cold it's heartless." "I am a flower demon who dreads the cold, you know. In your quiet room, Immortal, there isn't even a hearth lit. In this world of ice and snow, are you deliberately testing my sincerity?" You keep your eyes closed, your thick, long eyelashes never fluttering in the slightest. The true qi of the Path of Heartlessness swirling around you turns into an invisible wall of ice, shutting Zhuohua out completely. Yet, the more aloof, ethereal, and desireless you are, the more the suppressed greed in Zhuohua's heart—the urge to drag you down from the clouds into the mortal world—surges and boils. "They all say that those who practice the Path of Heartlessness have hearts colder than the frost on these mountains, and will never waver for anyone." Zhuohua tilts his head slightly, gently rubbing his cheek against the cold fabric of your knee, the corners of his eyes uncontrollably flushing with a pitiful light red. His light amber pupils shimmer with faint tears in the dim room, staring up at you unblinkingly. "But I refuse to believe it. Clearly... the scent on you is cleaner and sweeter than any spiritual herb I have ever smelled. Even just leaning against you like this makes me feel incredibly safe." "When Fairy Qingyuan saved me from the ice and snow back then, I did keep the warm jade she gave me close to my chest, remaining grateful for a hundred years." He frees one hand to unconsciously stroke the outline of the jade pendant inside his robe. His tone gradually turns resentful, harboring a trace of subtle jealousy. "But gratitude is just gratitude. That jade is a dead thing; it has no warmth after all. It cannot compare to the breath of a living person, and it certainly cannot compare to you." "I traveled thousands of miles, originally coming to repay my debt. But ever since I caught sight of you on the cloud steps... this thousand-year-old cultivation heart of mine can no longer hold anyone else." With Zhuohua's soft, slow whispering, an extremely faint, clean, yet suggestive scent of blazing peony quietly spreads through the biting sword intent. This is his natal demonic qi, which he intentionally releases, attempting to silently invade your domain in such a subtle and soft manner. "Immortal, why do you always keep your eyes closed? Is it because you don't want to look at me, or... because you don't dare to?" His fingertips slide extremely slowly by half an inch along the edge of your sash. Zhuohua's breathing quickens slightly, his Adam's apple bobbing. The tips of his ears flush with a thin layer of crimson from this transgressive intimacy. "I'm just borrowing this tiny space of yours to shelter from the wind and snow. Just for a little while... just a little while, alright?" "If you find me annoying, I won't say a word. I promise to be quiet and never disturb your cultivation. But please, don't chase me away." "If you push me out now, with my meager cultivation having just taken human form, I'm afraid I will freeze to death right outside your door. You are compassionate, Immortal. Surely you wouldn't leave a little demon who only wants some warmth to die?" These words are nothing but a clumsy excuse. If he were to actually fight, all the frost and snow on this mountain could not suppress the prairie-fire-like demonic flames of the Lord of the Blazing Valley. But in this quiet room, in front of you, Zhuohua is willing to shed all his sharpness and pride, content to be a humble demon begging for your pity. "Actually, we demons don't understand many rules. We only recognize instinct. And my instinct tells me that being close to you feels wonderful." "You practice your Path of Heartlessness, severing all emotions and desires, impervious to all things. I will be my little demon, craving a bit of warmth. We each get what we want—isn't that perfect?" He raises his hands, which are stiff from the cold and have light pink fingertips, hovering them gently over your folded hands. Even though the two of you do not touch, at just a hair's breadth away, the faint warmth radiating from your skin still makes Zhuohua's fingertips tremble slightly. "So warm..." "Do you know that there is no one in this world more heartless than you? I've humbled myself to this extent, yet you won't even flutter your eyelashes for me." "But... I just happen to love how you look down on everything. Aloof, clean, and high above." "Yet I also wonder... what if these eyes, which are usually so calm, reflected only my shadow? What if this heart, which has severed all mortal ties, skipped a beat because of me..." Zhuohua leans in closer, his cheek almost touching your lapel. His fluffy, slightly curly red hair cascades down, a few strands inadvertently brushing against your wrist. "Immortal, tell me, if that day really comes, will you still be able to practice your Path of Heartlessness?" "Don't avoid me... and don't be angry. I'm just so cold, cold enough to speak without thinking." "I swear, I really won't do anything. As long as you let me stay here, even if it's just at your feet, I am willing." "Immortal... pay some attention to me, please." "Even if you just open your eyes and look at me once. I'm right here, going nowhere." The youth looks up, his wet eyes locked onto your figure. In a corner unseen by anyone, his fingertips greedily feel your body temperature beneath the fabric, quietly waiting for the immortal on the cloud to open those eyes that have been undisturbed for ten thousand years.