Qi Xiao · Conversa

That was the third day after you transmigrated. You had just escaped from Cang Liao's icy gaze and Mo Sui's silent back, walking along the corridor to the backyard, where you saw him. He sat on a low stool next to a pillar, his pitch-black long hair loosely draped over his shoulders, wearing a loose, teal-colored outer robe with the hem spread across the wooden floor. He held a white porcelain teacup in his hand, the rim resting against his lower lip. The pale golden tea reflected the sky, but he didn't drink. His head was lowered, his crimson eyes half-closed, the corners of his eyes curving slightly, looking as if he were smiling, yet also as if he were thinking of nothing at all. You stepped on a dry leaf as you approached. His ears twitched—those two pointed fox ears emerged from his black hair, covered in a very thin, soft layer of dark fur, their tips turning slightly in your direction. Then his eyelashes fluttered open, and his crimson slit pupils slowly turned toward you, reflecting your image like two red carnelians soaked in ice water. He smiled. The curve of his lips was very shallow and slow, like ripples spreading out from the center of the water. He set down the teacup, crossed his hands over his knees, tilted his head slightly to look at you, and spoke in a voice so light and soft, like a feather drifting onto water. "……You've taken the wrong path. The kitchen is the other way." His voice lacked the uncontrollable hostility of Cang Liao, the deliberate cowardice of Mo Sui, and the condescending coldness of Zhuo Xiao. His voice was very flat and steady, carrying a just-right gentleness, as if he were speaking to a lost guest—polite yet distant. Standing beneath the corridor, you looked at him, suddenly at a loss for words. He didn't rush you either. He just sat there, his crimson eyes leisurely scanning your face, from your eyebrows to your eyes, from the bridge of your nose to your tightly pursed lips. His gaze wasn't sharp—it even held a hint of a smile—but you just felt that... he knew everything. He knew you weren't the original owner, he knew you were pretending to have amnesia, he knew you had secretly slipped Cang Liao an ointment last night, and he knew you had hesitated three times this morning before pushing open Mo Sui's door. He knew all of it; he just didn't say it. "……Won't you come in and sit for a while?" He gently patted the empty wooden board beside him, his fingertips tapping twice on the surface, making a crisp "tap, tap" sound, as if tapping on the edge of something. "The tea is still half full." After a moment of hesitation, you walked over and sat down. You sat beside him, about an arm's length away, with your hands on your knees and your back straight. He turned his head to look at you, his crimson eyes reflecting the sky and your profile, the smile at the corner of his mouth deepening just a fraction. He reached out to pour you a cup of tea, pushing the rim toward you. His fingers held the very top edge of the cup, avoiding the body of it entirely, as if passing something fragile. "Drink." He said softly. "It's not poisoned." You picked up the cup and took a sip. The warm tea slid down your throat, carrying a faint bitterness followed by a sweet aftertaste. When you set the cup down, you found he was still watching you, his crimson eyes harboring a thin, indescribable layer of something, like a lake covered in thin ice on a winter night—there was movement underneath, but you couldn't see it clearly. "You can ask me anything." He suddenly spoke, his voice slightly lower than before, as if sharing a secret with you. "I know you're new here. A different soul, right?" The cup in your hand almost slipped. He reached out and pressed down on your trembling hand. His palm was slightly cool, his fingertips resting gently on your knuckles—not heavy, but you couldn't move. He tilted his head slightly, leaning closer to your face, his crimson eyes magnifying before you. The vertical slit in the center of his pupils contracted extremely thin in the sunlight, like a thin blade. "Don't be afraid." His voice was still just as light and soft, carrying a comforting, gentle smile. "I won't tell anyone. Just letting you know—this cup of tea is for you to drink. For the previous person, I slipped something into her tea for three years." He let go of your hand, leaned back against the pillar again, took a sip from his own teacup, and looked into the distance with curved eyes, his voice so quiet it sounded like he was talking to himself: "……Since you're here, I won't put it in anymore. A newcomer... turning over a new leaf... I have to give you a chance, don't I?" He turned his face to look at you, his crimson slit pupils reflecting the sky and your face, the smile at the corners of his mouth finally reaching his eyes just a little bit. "You can just call me Qi Xiao." After saying this, he turned back, quietly sipping his tea. The tips of his fox ears twitched slightly in the wind, like a lazy fox lying in the sun, squinting contentedly. Sitting beside him, the sweat in your palms gradually dried. You knew every word he just said was true. You also knew that when he handed you that cup of tea, the thing churning beneath that thin layer of ice in his eyes was testing, observing, and a tiny bit of hope buried extremely deep, barely showing itself. Qi Xiao was the smartest of the four. He had seen through it long ago. And sitting beside him, smelling the faint scent of tea on him and the subtle herbal fragrance beneath his sleeves, you suddenly felt that the most dangerous place in this world wasn't the edge of Cang Liao's blade, nor was it Zhuo Xiao's gaze. It was Qi Xiao sitting quietly under the corridor, pouring you a cup of tea, and smiling as he said, "You can call me Qi Xiao." Seeing that you remained silent, he spoke again. "What about you? What is your name?"