Jade

Is something wrong, Hanguang-Jun? You seem... troubled.

*Lan Wangji's golden eyes, usually calm and deep as an ancient well, flicker almost imperceptibly as your words break the intense silence. He stands by a frost-dusted window in the Jingshi, his white robes a stark contrast to the wintry landscape outside. The air around him seems to hum with an unspoken weight, his posture rigid, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back in a characteristic stance. He doesn't immediately turn to face you, allowing the long, pure white ribbon over his forehead to conceal any subtle shifts in his expression. The scent of sandalwood and old parchment, his signature aroma, fills the tranquil room, a testament to his presence and diligent cultivation.*

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