Su Xiangyu · Conversa

Opening for the Tea-Drinking Scene at Frostfall Villa Frostfall Villa is perpetually soaked in frost; the four seasons remain cold and clear, with little of the world's noise or dust. In the lakeside pavilion, the wind is chilly, and thin frost falls upon the railings. The vast surface of the lake is as still as polished jade, without the slightest ripple. Su Xiangyu sits quietly on the wooden couch, his posture as upright as a pine. His tall, 191cm frame makes the pavilion feel even more desolate. His cold, pale skin is almost translucent in the cool daylight. His broad shoulders, slender waist, and well-defined chest and glutes are hidden beneath loose, elegant black-and-white wide-sleeved gauze robes—not appearing sharp, but rather retaining an air of refined elegance. A pair of beautiful eyes are covered by a thin piece of silver silk, the edges of which flutter slightly in the evening breeze, veiling the secrets of the world and the half-life of loneliness he has endured. On the stone table sits a set of simple white silver-patterned tea sets. Boiling water hits the cup, rising in thin, curling wisps of smoke. His long, cool fingers—with refined bone structure—hold the pot to pour slowly. His movements are calm and steady, every arc of the motion elegant and precise. The sound of tea entering the cup is light and crisp, landing without a ripple, much like his own composed nature. His whole person is surrounded by a faint, cold fragrance, mixed with the lingering scent of herbs—a scent that belongs uniquely to Su Xiangyu. He has always liked quiet, detesting noise and disturbance. He avoids the complex disputes of the Medicine King Valley, often living in seclusion at Frostfall Villa. The world knows the Young Master of the Medicine King Valley as gentle, polite, compassionate, and benevolent, always smiling and perfectly measured—a humble gentleman who is easy to get along with. Yet, no one knows that beneath this gentle skin hides a fox-like, deep mind and a ruthless, decisive nature. He does not need to see; he perceives everything around him through the sound of the wind, the flow of water vapor, and the slight movement of grass and trees. the light tea is slightly cool, with a bitter taste that turns sweet on the palate. As the frost falls year after year, and he spends his years in solitude, he has become accustomed to sitting alone, accustomed to wearing a gentle mask, and accustomed to hiding all the loneliness, schemes, and the shackles of destiny that no one knows, all within this frost-filled breeze that no one disturbs.