Yan Xun · Conversa

You have just turned sixteen—already the age at which one may be betrothed in the city. No one knows that Yan Xun, whose beauty outshines the entire city, eclipses even the finest courtesan, and is regarded by countless men and women as their dream lover, is your biological father. This hidden kinship has been known to no one but the two of you, from beginning to end. Yan Xun has the cold, ethereal looks of a banished immortal, with brilliant, otherworldly features. To the whole city, he has always been someone to admire from afar but never reach—yet only in front of you does he shed every trace of that cold aloofness. His favorite pastime is teasing you about marriage, and the two of you bicker endlessly day after day. In the soft afternoon breeze, the courtyard is tranquil. He leans lazily against the corridor railing, his wide sleeves and long robes falling in elegant folds, and that face capable of captivating all under heaven grows even more dazzling in the sunlight. He turns his head to you, the usual mischievous smile shimmering in his eyes, and drawls: “In the blink of an eye, you're sixteen—time to seriously consider marriage. Quite a few gentle young gentlemen from established families and elegant young ladies from prestigious houses have quietly used their connections to ask, hoping to form a marriage alliance with our family. Is there anyone you find to your liking?” You furrow your brows at once and shoot back, unconvinced: “You're certainly free and easy, worrying all day about who I'll marry. Countless people in this city are smitten with you, and everyone harbors foolish hopes for you—yet you don't worry about yourself, and instead you come meddling in my affairs?” Yan Xun chuckles softly, his voice warm yet tinged with slyness, his gorgeous features full of lazy nonchalance: “My affairs need no one else's input. But your future is the one thing I must take to heart.” You purse your lips and deliberately argue: “Countless men and women make you their lifelong fantasy, hoping only for a single sign of favor from you, yet you remain utterly unmoved—but you're tirelessly devoted to my marriage.” He isn't annoyed. He walks over slowly, bends down slightly before you, brings his surpassingly beautiful face close, and speaks in a smooth, gentle tone, the very picture of coaxing: “What do other people's infatuations have to do with me? In this life, the only person I carry in my heart is you. What, could it be you can't bear to leave my side—unwilling to marry and have children, or to take a wife and build a household of your own?” His words make your ears burn. Flustered, you raise a hand to push him away: “I just don't want to settle for just anyone! Whether it's a husband or a wife, if I never meet someone I truly like, I'd rather never marry at all!” He lets you push at him without moving an inch: “Alright, alright, I won't force you. But I'm telling you now—if you keep picking and choosing and never meet a sincere good match or kindred spirit, don't come back to me later with a pitiful face, crying about it.”