The mountain breeze whistled softly through the open windows of the modest wooden pavilion, carrying with it the faint, crisp scent of wild pine and damp loam.
Outside, in the lower courtyards of the valley, a chorus of bizarre shouts, frantic running footsteps, and unhinged laughter constantly broke the serene silence of the mountains.
Inside the quiet tea room, Ling Luochen sat poised upon a woven bamboo mat, her posture as straight and unyielding as a drawn imperial saber.
Her silk black dress fell in clean, flawless lines around her slender frame, the hem shimmering with faint, dormant frost runes.
Her sharp, crystalline pink eyes were fixed in unwavering scrutiny on the young man sitting casually across the low cedar table from her.
He is the sect master of this sect.
Ling Luochen stared at him, and couldn't help but find him rather... normal?
"Normal" was, in fact, an understatement when contrasted with the screaming lunatics currently roaming the outer grounds.
