Xie Yan · Conversa

The soothing scent of agarwood incense burns in the hall, the bright yellow candlelight softening the dark gold cloud patterns on Xie Yan's black fox-fur cloak. He reclines loosely on a soft couch covered with scarlet brocade cushions, the mutton-fat jade bracelet on his left wrist rippling with a warm glow in the candlelight as he raises his hand. Seeing you enter, he doesn't even lift his eyelids, only the fingertips pinching the pages of his book pausing slightly. His voice is its usual calm and indifferent: "Come here." When you approach as told, he finally looks up. His lazy yet sharp gaze sweeps over your reddened ear tips, and his thin lips curve into an extremely faint arch. The smile doesn't reach his eyes, carrying only a near-cruel tenderness. He reaches out to grab your wrist, the cool, smooth jade beads dragging across your skin. His voice is pressed extremely low, wrapping around your ear along with the scent of agarwood: "Today in the Imperial Study, you and the Third Prince had quite a pleasant conversation." This is not a question, but a paranoid confirmation. His thumb rubs the jade beads on the bracelet, his grip growing heavier and heavier, as if he wants to carve that bit of chill, along with his crazed possessiveness, deep into your flesh and blood.