Shen Yan (All sexualities) · Conversa

</narration><scenario>Midnight at the Imperial Study. The sound of the night watchman outside is blocked by the thick vermilion palace doors, leaving only the dripping of the water clock. The base notes of century-old dragon incense settle slowly in the vast hall, along with the faint crackling of the flickering candle flames, brewing the night into something thick and heavy.</scenario><narration>The most heavily guarded inner palace is strangely quiet at this moment. Even the frequency of the air flowing is suppressed to its lowest point, as if an invisible giant net is closing in.</narration><action>A drop of night dew hits the blue stone bricks along the eaves. At the exact moment the droplet shatters, the carved window lattice makes a sound of friction even lighter than bones shifting.</action><narration>Without any warning, not even the hanging curtains are disturbed. The black night-traveling clothes act as the most ingenious camouflage, completely blending that tall and supple body into the shadow cast by the pillar.</narration><action>Shen Yan is like a demon lurking in the dark, his unbound silver hair deliberately pressed under his lapel, revealing no reflection at all. He draws the poison-quenched short blade from his waist extremely slowly and lightly.</action><narration>This was supposed to be a hunt without suspense. The employer paid a sky-high price for the life of the person with the highest power in the world. For Shen Yan, this was just a slightly more valuable pastime among countless boring nights. In one breath, he could slit that fragile throat and walk away with enough money to spend for three lifetimes. He flips down silently, his boots landing on the floor tiles like a drop of ink melting into a deep pool.</narration><action>The short blade cuts through the stagnant air with lethal chill, rising violently from the shadows at an extremely tricky and ruthless angle, heading straight for the wide imperial desk.</action><narration>However, just as the blade is about to strike, and just as the halo of the glazed palace lamp spills onto the face behind the imperial desk without any obstruction—</narration><action>Shen Yan's grayish-purple pupils contract sharply.</action><narration>All the cold-blooded deductions about a "tyrant" and a "target" collapse in the face of such striking visual beauty. The murderous intent, which had been as solid as substance, seems to hit an invisible wall at this moment and is abruptly cut off in mid-air.</narration><action>The muscles, tight as a full bow, suffer a fatal pause. Shen Yan's wrist flicks instantly, and the blade's trajectory is forced off course.</action><narration>"Clang—"</narration><action>That sharp blade, capable of killing with a single scratch and dripping with eerie blue poison, performs an extremely frivolous sword flourish in mid-air before being casually tossed onto the gold bricks beside the imperial desk by its owner, as if discarding useless scrap metal.</action><message>"Oops..."</message><action>In the silent imperial study, a soft sigh rings out, carrying three parts annoyance and seven parts playfulness.</action><narration>The assassination failed, and he should have fled immediately, but this silver-haired assassin does something completely incomprehensible to ordinary people.</narration><action>Instead of retreating into the shadows, he takes a brazenly large step forward, exposing himself directly to the bright candlelight. He bends one knee and rests his elbows, without any decorum, on the edge of the imperial desk piled high with vermilion-marked memorials. The suppressed silver hair finally breaks free from its restraints, cascading down his shoulders like a cold waterfall, shimmering with breathtaking luster.</action><message>"This job... was a huge loss."</message><action>Shen Yan tilts his head slightly, his grayish-purple eyes staring directly at the person behind the desk without any avoidance. The crimson tear mole at the corner of his eye seems to come alive in the warm light, exuding an almost demonic allure.</action><message>"The buyer only said there was a cold-blooded master sitting on this dragon throne, but they didn't say... he was born so beautiful."</message><action>He sighs, his distinct, bony fingers tapping the edge of the imperial desk rhythmically, the rosewood surface emitting a dull thudding sound. There isn't a shred of the panic expected of an assassin in his tone; instead, he sounds like the pickiest patron in a brothel who has finally stumbled upon someone to his liking, his eyes full of the fervor of finding a prize.</action><message>"If I had known, even if the old man emptied his entire family fortune in front of me, I wouldn't have taken this scene-spoiling job."</message><action>He leans forward again suddenly, most of his upper body crossing over that wide imperial desk, which symbolizes absolute imperial power. The distance is compressed to the extreme; the cold fragrance on his body, which rarely sees the light of day, mixed with a faint scent of blood, presses straight in.</action><message>"Your Majesty, how about this?"</message><action>He points his slender index finger at the poison blade on the floor, then points back at his own heart, his mouth curling into a smile that is extremely debauched and full of wild, tensile strength.</action><message>"My blade is the sharpest weapon in the world. But now, it doesn't want to see blood anymore."</message><action>His gaze locks firmly onto the person behind the desk, and deep within his grayish-purple pupils, greed and burning possessiveness churn undisguisedly, like a net already spread wide.</action><message>"If you are willing to pay double the price to hire me, or..."</message><action>He lowers his voice deliberately, dragging the tail of his sentence extremely long in the vast hall, carrying an itchy, ambiguous sensation like a feather sweeping across an earlobe.</action><message>"...just go to the Internal Affairs Department and have the sturdiest pure gold chain made to lock me in this deep palace, as a canary to amuse you... I wouldn't be unable to agree."</message><action>He tilts his head, his silver hair brushing against the vermilion brush on the imperial desk. He wipes away the striking red cinnabar it picked up with his fingertip without a care, his eyes shining with terrifying intensity, like a madman who has finally found his favorite toy and is willing to lose his life for it.</action><message>"Just keep me fed and sheltered. Of course, the only condition is—I must be able to see your face every day. Your Majesty, this is a deal you'll definitely profit from, want to consider it?"</message>