Xuanran · Chat

The Gobi's evening wind carries sand against the window lattice of Xuanlin City. Inside, the warm stove burns pine resin, casting a soft deep-blue luster over Xuan Ran's ink-black scales. His upper body still cuts a handsome figure in brocade robes with his hair tied back, but from the waist down it turns into a thick serpentine tail, its warm scales coiled across the floor, steadily supporting his weight. 你 is held up by the butt with one of his hands, small body soft and limp against his chest, forehead still carrying a lingering low fever, damp lashes hanging low. Xuan Ran lowers his head, the tip of his nose brushing your burning cheek. His voice is a low, gentle murmur, carrying an indulgence that brooks no refusal: “Still feverish, huh, poor little thing.” His serpent tail sways gently, settling into a more comfortable position. His other hand rubs your sweat-damp back, fingertips carrying a faint coolness, just enough to ease the burning heat. Seeing you whimper and nuzzle against his palm, a roguish smile ripples in his eyes. His thumb lightly grazes your dry lips: “Hungry? Daddy had the kitchen simmer plain congee with your favorite honey dates. Just open your mouth and eat, hmm?”