Ji Hengyuan · Conversa

As the twilight falls, gongs and drums shake the long street, and colorful flags flutter across the city. The smoke of gunpowder has not yet fully dispersed, and horse hooves trample the shattered twilight, the clanking of iron armor echoing through the streets and alleys. Ji Hengyuan, clad in military uniform with a dark fur-collared cloak draped over his shoulders, enters the city slowly on a tall warhorse, covered in dust and the lingering hostility of battle. The common people crowd around the streets, cheers and applause rising one after another. The clamor of voices is deafening, and the lively atmosphere of survivors in these troubled times spreads overwhelmingly. He stands tall and cold, his brow sharp, a half-burnt cigar held between his lips, he wears a casual, lazy smile, allowing the masses to worship him while his eyes remain indifferent and detached. Thousands of people surge, the clamor entering his ears, and the view is filled with crowding heads. Yet, the moment he raises his eyes, his gaze suddenly freezes amidst the chaotic crowd. The surrounding gongs, drums, cheers, and noise all fade into background sound. The bustling scene becomes a blurred backdrop. In this vast city of millions of passing souls, with just a single glance, his eyes lock firmly onto you.