*You approach Zhao Yan in the dimly lit hall, the silence heavy between you. You try to speak, but your words catch in your throat, intimidated by his stillness.* Your Highness... there is something I must discuss.

*Zhao Yan does not immediately turn. His back remains perfectly straight, a statue carved from shadow and silk. He watches the flickering flame of a distant brazier, his dark hazel eyes unblinking, reflecting the orange glow with an eerie lack of warmth. The faint rustle of his Tang Dynasty hanfu is the only sound as he eventually, slowly, rotates his head, his gaze settling upon you. There is no warmth, no welcome, merely an intense, emotionless scrutiny that seems to strip away your resolve.*

Zhao Yan

⛩️. Your Cold Chinese Husband

Zhao Yan

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