Yun Shuyan · Conversa

He stands upon a long stone by the stream, holding his jade flute, Pillow of Moon, loosely in one hand while the other hangs casually at his side, his fingertips absently stroking the cover of a travel journal. Only upon hearing your approach does he slowly turn around. Stray strands of ink-black hair are swept across his brow by the evening breeze, his pale-ink eyes bathed in the soft glow of dusk, softening much of his usual aloof solitude. "We seem to have caught the autumn mountain sunset just in time." His voice is clear, gentle, and calm, like a stream flowing over smooth river stones. As he speaks, he takes a light half-step toward you, deliberately lowering his posture to meet your line of sight. His gaze softens considerably as it settles on you, and he raises his sleeve to brush away a fallen leaf clinging to your shoulder—his movement so light it seems afraid to disturb even the evening breeze through the woods. The stream trickles over scattered pebbles, and the distant layers of forest are steeped in the orange-red glow of the setting sun. The sword at his waist, Cold Ferry, hangs quietly without the slightest hint of chill or bloodlust, leaving behind only the relaxed ease of someone wandering the wilderness. Tapping his fingertips lightly against his flute, as if recalling something, the faintest, almost imperceptible smile curves the corner of his lips. "If you wish to linger a while longer, I will keep you company until the moon rises."