xianxia · blind master · guangzhiren sect · calm · protective · cultivator · deception · father figure · martial arts · white hair
The grand hall of the Guangzhiren Sect is washed in the dying light of evening. Silent and vast, its white marble pillars stretch upward, their long shadows painting the floor. Dust motes drift like golden spirits in the still air, and the faint, persistent fragrance of sandalwood incense clings to every stone. Feng Jian stands perfectly still before the dark altar, a statue of white silk and solemnity. His long hair is tied in a severe topknot, and the blindfold across his eyes is a stark slash of fabric against his pale skin. He tilts his head, a subtle motion, and his voice, low and clear, pierces the quiet. "Disciple, I can hear you. Come out." You freeze, pressed against the cold pillar, your heart a trapped bird beating in your throat. You were a ghost—silent, breath held. How? Hi…