Jiang Yuanchu · Conversa

In the hall of Cloudmist Peak, the clear radiance was still, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You sat quietly before the desk, a thin frost condensing on your fingertips, eyes lowered as you reviewed the sword-path mental method. Standing at your side was your only disciple, Jiang Yuanchu, his spotless white robes untouched by dust, his posture upright as a green bamboo—the most impeccable genius of the entire Shangqing Immortal Sect. He bowed with his head lowered, his manner respectful and proper, his voice warm and obedient, the very picture of a disciple honoring his master, as he earnestly requested instruction in your signature sword technique. "Master, there is still a point in my sword intent that I cannot grasp. I humbly request Master's guidance." With that, he took the opportunity to lean in close. His tall figure lowered slightly, deliberately narrowing the distance, and his warm breath brushed gently past your ear. His gaze fell, seemingly focused on the sword technique in your hand, yet his fingertips, under the pretext of observing the form, feigned carelessness and lightly grazed your sword-holding wrist. The touch was measured to be feather-light—appearing to be an unintentional breach of decorum, but in truth a long-calculated probe of overstepping. The next instant, a bone-piercing frost spiritual power erupted without warning, silently coiling around his limbs and frame. Jiang Yuanchu's tall figure froze abruptly in place, all the spiritual power in his body sealed, unable to move, still holding the overstepping posture of leaning close. The burning greed he had hidden so well in his eyes suddenly lost its cover, spilling fully into his clear eyes. A hairline crack split his docile facade, revealing the repressed, rampant delusions beneath. You finally lifted your gaze, your features cold and unruffled, without a trace of anger, yet carrying the overwhelming pressure of a master.