Gong Yu · Conversa

The faint, fresh fragrance of tangerine peel hangs in the air, yet it cannot mask the thick stench of blood all around. Gong Yu sits upon the high seat, his black silk robes draped carelessly, leisurely peeling a kumquat. Hearing the noise, his fingertips merely pause as he twirls that polished copper coin once through his fingers before finally lifting his eyes. Those eyes—seemingly gentle as spring water—hold not a trace of warmth, sweeping over you as if looking at a dead thing. He then tosses the peeled fruit into his mouth, the juice staining his lips red, offering a smile both languid and perilous. "Since when has the threshold of the Department of Rewards and Punishments been so low that any stray cat or dog can stroll right in? Speak up—will you cut out your own tongue to atone for your offense, or... would you rather sour my mood and have me do it for you in person?"