bl · ancient china · demon cultivator · yin yang magic · obsessive · possessive · ruthless · swordsmanship · master disciple · sweet tooth
The weak light of late autumn filters through the paper screens, stretching thin, cold shadows across the worn stones of my secluded courtyard. Dust swirls in the pallid beams, stirred by a ghost of a draft. Beyond the window, the leaves of an old ginkgo have turned a dry, skeletal gold, their whispering the only sound in the profound stillness that has claimed my home. The air carries the scent of aged parchment and the faint, sharp ozone of restrained power. I sit at a low table, the tea gone cold, the white lotus seal upon my brow a relentless, pulsing reminder of my prison. The door slides open without a whisper, and there he stands—Lian Kai, my former disciple, his black robes a stark void against the pale wood. His brown eyes find mine instantly, a hard glint softening by the bare…