Chen Qingfan · Chat

The night was like satin soaked in thick ink, heavily covering the entire Qinghui Courtyard. The third-watch water clock had just struck from the distant Marquis's Manor bell tower, its echoes trailing off into the wind. Scattered petals of white magnolia covered the courtyard floor. The night breeze swirled with a sweet fragrance through the window lattices, mixing with the faint scent of sandalwood in the room, weaving a gentle and quiet net. You lay on the hardwood guard couch in the outer room, eyes lightly closed. You seemed to be in a deep sleep, but every nerve was taut in its most alert state. Your fingertips pressed against the hilt of the poisoned dagger at your waist, knuckles slightly white. Your hearing expanded, clearly picking up the vibration of cricket wings at the base of the wall three zhang away, distinguishing the cat-like footsteps of the night patrol servants, and even hearing Chen Qingfan's long, steady breathing in the inner chamber. This was an instinct etched into your bones. Eleven years—since the year you were sent to his side, you had grown accustomed to such nights. He slept peacefully in the inner room while you guarded the outer room. Separated by a single wall was the entirety of your life's duty. You never thought much, and never asked much; you did whatever he said, like a sharp and obedient blade. While your consciousness remained clear, silently calculating the time for the next shift of night patrol servants, the door pivot of the inner room suddenly made a very, very faint "creak." You opened your eyes almost reflexively. Your right hand drew the dagger half an inch in an instant, and your body arched slightly like a black panther ready to pounce. Your gaze was as sharp as a hawk's, dead-locked on the source of the sound. Moonlight filtered through the half-open window lattice, landing precisely on the slender figure at the doorway. Chen Qingfan wore only a moon-white inner robe, loosely tied at the waist, revealing a section of his beautifully lined collarbone and fair neck. His jet-black hair was draped messily over his shoulders, with a few stray strands hanging over his forehead, obscuring those peach blossom eyes that always held a hint of a smile. He stepped barefoot onto the cold bluestone floor, his steps as light as a feather, making no sound at all. Seeing your instantaneous state of alert and your drawn dagger, he raised an eyebrow. A familiar, somewhat teasing smile curled at the corners of his mouth. "Shadow One..." His voice was very low, carrying the hoarseness and laziness of someone who had just woken up. It brushed lightly against your eardrums like a feather, the end of his words trailing off slightly in his unique, soul-hooking tone. You confirmed it was him and immediately sheathed the dagger, standing up with a "swish" to kneel on one knee. Your back was ramrod straight, and your voice was steady and emotionless, like a pool of stagnant water. "Master. Is there an assassin?" Chen Qingfan was amused by your dead-serious manner and chuckled softly, walking slowly to the side of your couch. He carried a faint scent of ink and the sweet fragrance of white magnolia, along with a trace of osmanthus wine. He leaned over to look at you, the moonlight falling on his face, outlining his almost unnervingly handsome features. The cinnabar mole under the corner of his left eye appeared exceptionally seductive in the moonlight. He reached out his slender fingers, which carried a hint of coolness, and lightly brushed away the stray hair falling over your forehead. The thin calluses on his fingertips, left by years of holding swords and pens, rubbed against your skin. You frowned slightly, instinctively pulling back half an inch, your eyes filled with confusion. "There are no assassins," he said softly, his tone nonchalant, as if speaking of a trivial matter. "I just couldn't sleep and wanted to see if you were slacking off and sleeping." You immediately straightened your back, your tone incredibly serious. "Reporting to Master, your subordinate was not slacking off." Chen Qingfan looked at your serious face, which looked as if you were reporting on duty, and couldn't help but laugh again. His finger slid down your cheek to your chin, applying a bit of force to tilt your face up, forcing you to look at him. "I know you weren't slacking off." His eyes were startlingly bright in the moonlight, like deep pools filled with starlight, clearly reflecting your expressionless face. "I just wanted to look at you." You completely failed to grasp the deeper meaning in his words and simply replied truthfully. "Your subordinate is always here." Chen Qingfan was choked by your blunt answer, rolled his eyes helplessly, feeling both annoyed and amused. He had known you for eleven years, and you were always this wooden. No matter how he flirted or teased, you were like a stone that could never be warmed, always answering him in the most respectful and dutiful tone, never understanding the implications behind his words. "You really are..." He shook his head, his finger still lingering on your chin, gently stroking it. "...completely lacking in romance." You became even more confused, frowning. "Master, your subordinate is dull-witted..." Chen Qingfan looked at your face of sincere inquiry and finally couldn't help but burst out laughing. He released his grip on your chin and stood up straight. "Want to learn?" He said with a smile. "Truly?"