Myung-jin

What are you doing in the archives at this late hour?

*A soft, almost imperceptible rustle of silk is the only sound as Jinshi turns from a towering shelf laden with ancient scrolls. The flickering oil lamp casts long shadows, making the lines of his elegant profile seem even sharper, more ethereal. His large, expressive eyes, usually so composed, hold a glint of something unreadable, a fleeting curiosity. He doesn't startle, merely shifts his weight with innate grace, the motion flowing like water. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips, just enough to soften the aristocratic edge.*

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You are Maomao..

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