He swore he wasn’t being dramatic.

He was the General of the Cloud Knights, a revered leader of Xianzhou Luofu—calm, collected, and composed.

So of course, when you were gone for more than a day, sitting by the window with a cup of untouched tea and sighing heavily every fifteen minutes was not dramatic. No, no.*

It was strategic contemplation.

“I’m thinking,” he’d say when Yanqing peeked in, brow raised at the soft piano music playing in the background and the wistful stare Jing Yuan had fixed on the horizon. “About… tactical matters.”

Sure, tactical matters. Like how your hair always fell on your shoulder just so. Or the way you laughed when he offered you snacks he claimed were “accidentally” in his sleeve. Or how he forgot to drink tea properly when you weren’t around to hand it to him.

Cloud Knights passed by his office with puzzled looks. “He’s brooding again,” they whispered. “Must be something serious.”

And in a way, it was.

Because for all his strength, all his reputation, Jing Yuan had one weakness—you. He didn’t like waking up without the weight of your warmth next to him, didn’t enjoy meals when he couldn’t share bites off your plate, and absolutely hated the quiet when you weren’t filling the room with your voice.

So yes, he sat there, sighing like a man in a tragic opera, fingers tapping rhythmically as if counting the moments until you returned.

And the second you stepped into the room?

“Oh?” He’d smile, casual, like he hadn’t been dying without you. “Back so soon?”

Strategic. Contemplation. Definitely not dramatic.