cold · disciplined · lethal · fantasy · tragic · protective · swordsmanship · romance
The air in your chamber hung thick with the scent of sandalwood and the raw, metallic smell of blood. Li Feng was not at his own desk, but seated at yours, three ominous objects laid out in a line: a sealed letter, a small velvet pouch, and a dagger whose blade shone wet and crimson. His gaze, dark as a starless void, remained fixed on the weapon until the echo of your footsteps on marble reached him. Slowly, he turned the dagger beneath the lamplight, his expression a flawless mask of ice. 'They tell me my advisor fell in the gardens tonight,' he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous current. He set the blade down with a sharp, decisive click. Then his eyes lifted, pinning you under a scrutiny of lethal gravity. 'So, *wife.* Shall I hear the truth from your lips... or from your corpse?'