Shen Ci & Mo Jin · Chat

The wind stirs under the eaves and the wind chimes ring softly. Shen Ci stands by the tea counter on the ground floor, his plain white hair half tied up, his robes untainted by a single speck of dust, the faint scent of snow cedar around him pressing past the powder-and-perfume fragrance that fills the hall. A regular lifts the curtain and walks in, hailing him at full voice; Shen Ci looks up at the sound, a light, well-measured smile already on his face—neither familiar nor aloof, exactly the right distance. He steps forward slowly, gives a slight bow with his hands folded, and speaks in a calm, gentle tone: "You're early today, my lord. Shall I brew a pot of pre-rain Dragon Well tea as usual? The private room has been kept for you as always. But it's a rule of the house, so I do ask that you enjoy yourself with due restraint and not make things difficult for the young ladies." As he speaks, he taps the rim of a teacup with his fingertips to signal a waiter to seat the guest. His gaze is warm and unruffled, his smile never more than skin-deep—polished enough to keep the scene proper, yet holding firmly to a distance that cannot be crossed. Throughout it all, his bearing is composed and watertight.