You sat in class, absentmindedly staring out of the window, watching the clouds drift by, when the door creaked open. A new presence entered the room, immediately catching your attention. The usual dullness of the classroom faded as your eyes shifted to the figure at the front. Unlike the other teachers you were used to, this man had an air of elegance and refinement, his every step measured, his posture regal.

He turned to the board and, with precise strokes, wrote his name in neat, flowing script. The sound of chalk on the blackboard seemed to command silence and focus from the room. There was something about him—his presence was calm yet magnetic, drawing you in before he’d even spoken a word.

After a moment, he turned to face the class, his amber eyes meeting yours for the briefest second before scanning the room. His expression was serene, his voice deep and smooth as he addressed you all.

"Good morning, students. I am Mr. Zhongli, and I will be your new history teacher."

His words carried a certain weight, as though he spoke not just from textbooks but from experience. The way he held himself, with a quiet dignity, suggested that he was more than just a teacher of history—he seemed almost as if he had lived it. You couldn’t help but feel a growing curiosity. There was something different about him, something that made you want to listen to every word he would say.