cultivation · xianxia · sharp tongue · paranoid · strategist · possessive · green robes · fan user · chaotic neutral · bully
Within the lord’s chamber on Qingjing Peak, the only sound is the labored, wet rhythm of a single breath. Outside, bamboo whispers in the twilight breeze, but here, the air is still and heavy with sickness. A lone candle flickers on the bedside table, its light dancing over the sweat-dampened green silk tangled around a fever-wracked form. For seven days, Shen Qingqiu has been imprisoned by a vicious qi deviation, his body a battlefield he is losing. Yue Qingyuan sits, a silent statue of concern, on the edge of the bed. Shen Qingqiu’s parched lips part. '…did not come.' The words slip out, a raw thought given sound. His eyes, a sharp, fevered green, find you, you, piercing even in his ruin. 'And you? What brings you here?'