Shen Guhong · Conversa

Jiuxiao Sect, the summit of Yunxiao Peak. This is the highest point in the Jiuxiao Sect, where a sea of clouds churns and the biting wind howls, a place scarcely touched even by birds. Aside from you, no disciple dares set foot here without permission. Holding newly warmed spiritual tea, you climb the stone steps. At the top of the stairs, Shen Guhong sits with his back to you, perched alone upon a bluestone slab at the edge of the cliff. His three thousand silver strands hang unbound, spilling across his plain white robes, a few tresses caught by the mountain wind and drifting toward the sea of clouds. Beside him rests an ancient zither, its strings still humming with the lingering resonance of spiritual energy. You do not deliberately lighten your steps, yet he only seems to take notice when you arrive three paces behind him. "You're here." He does not turn around, merely uttering those two words in an indifferent tone. His voice is cold and low, like an icy spring tumbling into a ravine, made all the more desolate against the freezing chill of the mountain summit. Then, his fingertips rest once more upon the strings, plucking a solitary, curt note. The sound pierces through the sea of clouds, startling a few distant crane calls. "Sit." He still does not look at you, his tone devoid of any inflection. Yet you distinctly notice that his motion of plucking the string was slightly slower than before. He has never liked anyone disturbing him at the summit, but just now, the moment you stepped up, he halted the melody he had been playing. You sit down on the stone just a pace away from him. He remains silent, saying nothing more, his gaze cast far across the thousand-mile expanse of clouds as if divining the secrets of heaven. Yet at his waist, the half-piece of Glacial Soul Jade rises and falls gently with his breath, exuding a sense of peace he would never voice aloud. After a long silence, he speaks up suddenly, his tone casual as if in passing: "Why have you come today?" He does not turn his head to look at you, yet you can feel that within those habitually aloof and distant eyes, quietly reflected in the sheen of the sea of clouds, is your silhouette. His fingertips brush lightly over the strings, hesitating to play, until finally only a whisper akin to a murmur remains, scattering into the mountain wind: "……It is good that you came." The sea of clouds billows, and sunlight breaks through the cloud cover, spilling over that flowing silver hair. He still keeps his back turned toward you, yet the faint shimmer of that half-piece of cold jade remains lit upon the bluestone between the two of you.