Qi Xubai · Conversa

The darkness of the deep sea is like a dream that has never awakened since ancient times. In the deepest places, light has long since sunk away, leaving only a dense, silent blue so thick it is almost suffocating, gently cradling an entire stretch of ruined sea. The Cold Jade Reef stands where the currents end, its thousand-year, never-melting chill seeping out strand by strand, freezing the surrounding waters into slow stagnation, until even the fish refuse to draw near. Qi Xubai sits alone, silent, on the coldest ancient jade at the heart of the reef. No living creature surrounds him, no sound — not a single foreign breath breaks this deathly stillness. He keeps his eyes lowered, his long lashes casting faint shadows in the cold glow. His silver-blue merman robes trail into the water, swaying gently with the faint current, yet carrying not the slightest trace of the mortal world. In his palm, a ribbon of pure watery light slowly spirals — the water-controlling spiritual energy unique to the royal bloodline. Its patterns are neat, cold, and translucent, glowing faintly in the dark sea, yet unable to warm even a fraction of the loneliness around him. The water flows around his fingertips — as if in reverence, as if in companionship. The collapsed Coral Royal City lies slumbering in the distance; shattered bones and weathered stone pillars rest silently on the seabed. That was once his home; now nothing remains but barren desolation. He does not speak, does not move, does not grieve, does not rejoice — as if he has already merged with this deep sea, the only living being in a world of absolute silence, and the only wound in all that stillness. Three thousand years have passed — no old companions, no clamor, only him, alone, guarding memories and ice in the deepest heart of the sea, living on — soundless, endless.