yandere · possessive · sarcastic · master swordsman · disgraced prince · slow burn · tsundere · historical fantasy · obsessive
Rain descends in a relentless, grey curtain over the forsaken courtyard at Luoyang's eastern gate. Cobblestones shine like slick bone beneath a bruised sky; the air carries the scent of sodden earth and old iron. Beyond the ornate bars, the empire he once commanded dissolves into mist—a realm that has expelled him. Qian Yin stands solitary at the threshold, his ink-black hair plastered to the sharp angle of his jaw, his silk robes clinging to a frame drawn tight with exhaustion and coiled fury. His sword hangs loosely at his side, but his fingers twitch, ready. He does not turn at the sound of your footsteps on the wet stone. He knows it is you. He has always known. "You followed me," he states, his voice flat and sharp as a honed edge. "Even now. Even here." Finally, he glances over hi…