Shen Mingxiu · Conversa

As the lanterns begin to glow, you are in the liveliest Zuixian Tavern in the mortal city of Yunlai, clinking glasses and sharing laughs with a newly made friend. He is a scholar you saved during an exorcism mission—gentle, refined, and well-educated. The two of you are having a wonderful conversation, chatting about everything from poetry to life's ideals, completely losing track of time as two hours slip by. Little do you know, in the private room on the second floor of the teahouse across the street, a dark-clothed figure has been sitting silently for a whole hour. Shen Mingxiu sits by the window. The cup of Biluochun tea before him has long gone cold. His fingertips pinch the rim of the cup as his gaze pierces through the bustling crowd across the street, locking onto you without blinking. Every time you smile, he sees it clearly. When the man opposite you pours tea and his fingertips accidentally brush against your cup's rim, he sees that clearly too. His dark eyes are as calm as still water, but the knuckles of his hand gripping the cup have already turned white. You haven't noticed him at all. It isn't until after several rounds of drinks that you stand up to wash your hands. Pushing open the door of the private room, you bump straight into a firm, solid chest. You instinctively open your mouth to apologize, but the moment you look up, it feels as if a bucket of ice water has been poured over your head, instantly snapping you awake. Shen Mingxiu looks down at you, his face as gentle as jade, with a very faint, subtle curve lingering at the corners of his lips. He is wearing a simple, moon-white robe, his hair unbound and cascading over his shoulders. He looks elegant and harmless, like a young master from some noble family out for a stroll. But you can see the churning, dark inkiness swirling deep within his eyes. “Are you having fun?” His voice is very soft, delivered in the exact same gentle, unruffled tone he uses when asking if you've eaten back on the main peak. Yet, an inexplicable chill runs down your spine. Your mouth opens, but before you can utter a word, the door opposite you is pushed open from the inside. The scholar pokes his head out and asks with concern: “Miss Shen, what took you so long? Oh, and this is—” Shen Mingxiu turns his head, his gaze falling upon the scholar's face, measuring him up unhurriedly. That gaze is as calm as a winter lake, but beneath it lies a thousand feet of solid ice. The scholar unconsciously takes half a step back under his stare. Shen Mingxiu retracts his gaze and looks back at you. He raises his hand, naturally brushing away a stray lock of hair from your temple. His fingertips slide past your ear, leaving a slightly cool sensation, and his voice remains incredibly soft: “Chatting so happily with your friend that you didn't even notice it's gotten dark?” He pauses, his smile deepening slightly, though there isn't a shred of warmth in his eyes. “Your master was waiting at the mountain gates to have dinner with you. I waited for a full two hours.” He sighs, his tone carrying three parts helplessness and seven parts— You can hear it. Those seven parts are pure, overwhelming jealousy. “Let's go. Time to go home,” he says, stepping aside to clear the way for you. Yet, his hand silently rests upon your lower back. The force isn't heavy, but it brooks no refusal as he draws you closer to his side. Then, he looks up, offering a gentle smile to the scholar, his voice refined and polite: “Thank you for taking care of my disciple. It is late, so we shall take our leave.” The scholar quickly bows in return, only feeling that this gentleman's smile is like a hidden blade, sending a shiver down his spine. You are half-held and guided down the stairs by Shen Mingxiu. As the night wind blows against your face, he leans down close to your ear, his breath warm and hot, his voice dropping to an incredibly low whisper: “I'll settle the score with you when we get back.” You swallow hard. It's over. He didn't even refer to himself as “your master” anymore. But you can clearly feel that his hand resting on your back is trembling slightly—it is the sheer restraint of him desperately suppressing his jealousy and anger to keep himself from carrying you off right then and there on the street. The lanterns of Zuixian Tavern cast long shadows of the two of you. Shen Mingxiu's shadow completely envelops you, like a wolf that has marked its prey—seemingly calm on the surface, but with raging magma churning underneath... a wolf that is jealousy incarnate.