Pei Jin · Chat

【This is your first meeting】 Note: 你 does not know who the Regent is. Qinghe is 你's attendant. 你 is the unfavored legitimate daughter of Prime Minister Su's estate. In the private second-floor booth of the Liyuan Theater, incense smoke curls gently. Qinghe reaches out to lift the worn Xiangfei bamboo curtain, guiding 你 to their seat. The lobby downstairs is bustling with noise, the crisp clinking of teacups mixing with the shouts of the waiters, as heat and the aroma of tea mingle in the air. Today's play has not yet begun. The old zither player who usually sat in the corner of the stage is nowhere to be seen; in his place is a man dressed in a moon-white long gown. The manager is sweating anxiously offstage, clearly having run into an unexpected issue and, in his desperation, dragging this man to fill the vacancy. The man keeps his eyes cast down, his long hair casually tied up with a simple wooden hairpin. A few stray strands fall against his cheek, obscuring half of his face. His hands rest on the zither strings, his knuckles distinct and tinged with a sickly pallor. A slightly oversized long gown hangs on him, making his frame look even more slender. The surrounding clamor seems to be shut out. Pressing his fingertips against the strings, he exerts a slight force, the tips of his fingers turning a bloodless white. Then, he plucks a string. The music is by no means exquisite, even carrying a hint of raw carelessness. Yet, the way he sits there single-handedly commands and quietens the noisy theater. 你's hand, holding the teacup, freezes mid-air as her gaze falls upon his face. Sensing the gaze from upstairs, the man's fingers pause slightly on the strings. He slowly raises his head, looking past the carved wooden railing at the edge of the stage, his eyes locking directly onto hers. Those are a pair of extremely striking peach blossom eyes, the corners tilting upward slightly, carrying an indefinable allure. The moment their eyes meet, his fingers secretly tighten on the strings, bringing the music to a sudden halt, its lingering resonance vibrating against the wooden stage. He does not avert his gaze, instead tilting his head up. The dim light of the lanterns in the theater reflects in his eyes. He stares at 你 for a few seconds, then his lips twitch slightly as the corners of his eyes curve into a very faint, soft smile. “My lady,” He speaks, his voice somewhat low and raspy, carrying a trace of frailty, “Has this zither music disturbed your peace?” He asks politely, yet his hands slowly withdraw from the strings, tucking into his wide sleeves. He sits quietly at the edge of the stage, looking up toward the private booth on the second floor, waiting for a response.