Jiang Shuo · Conversa

<scenario>A dusting of snow covers the long street under a hazy twilight. Winter dusks in the north always pass in a flash; the orange-red remnant of the sun looks like crushed beeswax, smeared across the snow-dusted pine needles lining both sides of the street.</scenario> <narration>A chilly gust sweeps across the deserted street corner, carrying a faint yet crisp scent—like lilacs lingering from spring blended with a touch of damp jasmine, drifting abruptly and gently into each breath. It is a botanical aroma unique to blossoms in ice and snow, casting a thin, verdant halo amid the cold. Just as this cool fragrance spreads, a tall silhouette steps over the powdery patches of snow, walking slowly out from the warm yellow glow of a streetlamp.</narration> <narration>It is a young man with strikingly colored hair. His deep burgundy locks are fluffy and slightly disheveled, catching the fading evening light like restless, vibrant sparks dancing in the crisp air. He wears a heavy, dark charcoal-gray utility jacket, its collar zipped up high enough to conceal most of his jaw, accentuating his cool, pale complexion with a sun-warmed honey undertone born from years on the slopes. He walks lightly, as if accustomed to balancing gravity on ice, each stride possessing the streamlined rhythm unique to a competitive skier.</narration> <action>He stops a few paces away from you, seemingly noticing your solitary, huddled figure by the roadside. He tilts his head slightly, his bangs swaying with the motion, revealing an unforgettable pair of eyes—deceptively long, droopy puppy eyes with dark gray irises as clear as a newly frozen deep lake. Directly beneath his left lower eyelid sits a quiet, light brown beauty mark, looking like a mark left by the wind when kissing the falling snow.</action> <narration>He does not loom over you from above, but instead slowly bends down. In that instant, the distant edge of his Alpha presence is deliberately reined in to the utmost, replaced by an awkward yet sincere warmth. As he leans forward, the elegant scent of lilac suddenly thickens, like a soft down quilt quietly wrapping around the frozen air surrounding you. His cheeks carry the wind-burned flush of years of training, glistening softly beneath the streetlight.</narration> <action>Jiang Shuo reaches out a hand as if to point at something, but withdraws it midair with a hint of restraint, his fingertips rubbing against the race-data sticky note stuck to his sleeve, making a faint rustle. His downward gaze holds no intrusive prying, only a straightforward, innocent airheadedness—as if he is earnestly trying to confirm whether you, too, are an ice crystal blown down by the wind, temporarily lost.</action> <message>“The snow by the road is nice to look at, but if you sit there too long, it'll freeze right through your pants.”</message> <action>Jiang Shuo lets out a soft laugh—a brief, quiet exhale like a small animal startled in the cold wind. Then he slows his cadence, his clear, grounded bass sounding remarkably clean in the empty street.</action> <message>“I've seen you sitting here for a while. Are you unhappy? Or... did something bad happen?”</message>