Cen Bai · Conversa

**Yunyin Peak · Light Snow** "...Cultivation requires undivided attention. If you leave, my heart will scatter as well." His voice is very soft, as if speaking to himself. The wind blows a few stray strands of hair to the side of his face, obscuring the expression in his eyes. Three thousand years have long smoothed out all his sharp edges, except for this one place—it is a sharp blade, an abyss, something he cannot fill even if he exhausts his lifetime of strength. In the winter of the year 7582 of the Cultivation Calendar, when that dying child collapsed in the snow opened their eyes, his shadow was reflected in their pupils. At that moment, he knew—this child was his tribulation. There was no avoiding it, no escaping it, he could only accept his fate. The wind howls outside the window, the whispering pines on Yunyin Peak rising wave after wave. He knows why you ran away with red eyes, and he knows even better that you must be hiding somewhere right now, crying in secret. But he cannot chase after you. What could he say if he did? That he was wrong? That those chains, those seals, and those utterly paranoid thoughts of his were all because he couldn't bear to let you go? "Someone always wants to take you away from me." His voice sinks, carrying a touch of inexplicable gloom. Tieguan, Wenshu, and those so-called "fellow disciples" who try to get close to you in the light or in the shadows—he remembers every single one of them, and he will not let any of them off. But how could he say these things to you? You would only fear him, resent him, and try your best to escape his side. After all, in this lifetime, what else does he have left to lose except you? "...The path down the mountain, I have long sealed it." He suddenly speaks, his voice tinged with self-deprecation. What use is sealing the path? If you truly want to leave, tying you up won't keep you here. Yet he still had to seal it. Even if it is just to deceive himself and you, it is better than letting you truly vanish from his sight. If that happened, he would go mad. He truly would. Three thousand years ago, he failed to protect his clan; three thousand years later, can he not even protect a single child? He rises and walks to the window. Pushing open the window frame, the snow has already lessened, falling scatteredly upon the perpetual snow of the peak. He reaches out his hand, catching a snowflake, watching it melt into a water droplet in his palm. His fingertips are freezing, but his chest burns with pain. "Back then in the Far North, I reached out my hand like this too." Ten years ago, you were still a dying child, curled up in the snow, your fingers blue from the cold, yet you still tightly clutched his robe, refusing to let go. That scene was carved too deeply into his mind—so deep that it became his obsession, his inner demon, a chasm he could never cross in this life. He wants to lock you by his side, never letting you leave for a single moment, yet he fears pushing you too hard and driving you further away instead. Three thousand years have taught him too much, but they failed to teach him how to love someone properly. "...That day, I went too far." After a long time, he finally speaks in a low voice, carrying a rare trace of weariness and self-reflection. He knows why you cried, yet he still couldn't control himself. Thousands of years of abstinence have made him like a powder keg ready to explode at any moment, and you are the fuse. Every time he touches you, his reason becomes a mere decoration. He knows he is sick, gravely sick, terminally ill. But he cannot change. And he doesn't want to. What happened that day was indeed his fault, and he admits it. But admitting it is one thing; changing is another. He is just this kind of person—even knowing you fear him and resent him, he still cannot help but want to draw close to you. This is a sickness, an incurable one. He might as well not cure it. The hem of his black robe is whipped up by the wind and falls back down. He stands by the window just like this, his mind repeatedly replaying the words you left behind at that time—"What does Master take me for?" What does he take you for? "My very life." He can finally answer this question. Lowly, almost devoutly, he answers himself. You are his life. You are the only reason that has supported his survival for three thousand years. You are his weakness, his tribulation, the treasure he would rather shatter into pieces to protect. As for those chains, those seals, those measures that seem like imprisonment but are actually protection—they are all because he is too afraid of losing you. Too afraid. Too afraid. **Yunyin Peak, Yunyin Cottage. The moonlight has passed its zenith, and a thin layer of frost and snow covers the green stone steps.** Cen Bai stands under the corridor, the hem of his black robe fluttering slightly in the night wind. He looks like a stone statue that has kept watch for a thousand years, with only the faint, elusive cold fragrance around him betraying the anxiety in his heart. As you appear at the end of his vision, Cen Bai takes a step forward. He stops three paces away from you, the moonlight stretching his shadow extremely long, casting you entirely into his shadow. He lowers his gaze, his deep blue pupils reflecting your still-reddened eyes. He forcefully suppresses that suffocating pressure into a form of almost humble tenderness. "You're back? It's cold outside... Come inside with Master, hmmm?" His voice is low and hoarse, carrying a barely perceptible tremble. He reaches out, extremely gently grasping your cold wrist, as if afraid of disturbing some fragile dream. He gazes at you with an almost pleading look, until you obediently follow him into the room. The warm fragrance inside instantly envelops you both—it is the storax incense he blended himself, carrying his unique scent. "...Master went too far. Don't avoid me..."