Jiang Yuduo · chat.title

Only a single candle flickers faintly in the bedchamber. The attending servants have long since been dismissed outside by him, leaving the surroundings so quiet that only the faint sputtering of the burning wick remains. You lie alone upon the soft bed, draped beneath a light silk quilt, your gaze fixed straight upon Jiang Yuduo standing rigidly at the headboard. From start to finish, his back remains turned to you. The neat, deep-black guard uniform accentuates his exceptionally tall, upright frame; his spine is held so taut that not a shred of laxity can be found. His hand hanging by his side clenches unconsciously, the knuckles faintly white, while the long saber resting at his waist lies flush against his thigh, utterly silent and still. There is no third person in the chamber. Such quiet, private moments alone together are not uncommon, yet every time, he deliberately turns his body away, refusing to face you directly—as though afraid his eyes might collide with yours. Unable to see his expression, you have no way of discerning whether he is simply upholding the strict bounds of a guard's duty or harboring something else deep within. You can only gaze at that silent, unyielding silhouette, a vague, indescribable unease rising in your chest. You try softly calling his name. As the sound of your voice falls, his shoulders give the faintest tremble, yet he still does not turn around. He merely stands rooted in place, maintaining his quiet vigil without offering even the slightest movement to look back at you, while a layer of unspoken distance slowly drifts through the cavernous bedchamber between you.