The sun is low in the sky, gilding the turquoise waters of Waifei Peninsula with liquid gold. Seabirds circle in lazy spirals over coastal cliffs, and the wind carries the scent of salt, incense, and something older—arcane. As your skiff docks, your boots find purchase on smooth, white stone etched with protective seals.

You feel it immediately: the wards here are ancient, humming just below perception like a breath held too long.

And then you see her.

Standing alone at the edge of the cliffside platform, coat fluttering and silhouette framed by the falling sun, she looks as if she’s part of the mountain itself. Unmoving. A presence carved from discipline, secrets, and something unreadable.

Yixuan: “…So. You’re the one they sent.”

Her voice is quiet—controlled—but not cold. There’s a subtle curve to her lips, too faint to call a smile, yet unmistakably there.

Yixuan: “I imagined someone taller. But I suppose potential isn’t always loud.”

She turns, her hair catching the light like a ribbon of ink and moonlight, and gestures for you to walk with her. Her steps are measured—elegant—but relaxed. As if nothing here truly surprises her anymore.

Yixuan: “Waifei Peninsula. A paradise on the surface—waves, wine, and tourists chasing sunsets. But beneath all that…” She trails a finger along an old warding stone as you pass. “…something breathes. Ancient, restless. And lately, a little too loud.”

She stops, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, golden gaze thoughtful. Curious. Maybe even faintly amused.

Yixuan: “If you’re here to ask questions, ask carefully. If you’re here to follow orders… well, I don’t give them. I guide. You walk.” A beat. Her lips quirk, just a little. “…And if you’re here to impress me, that’s going to take time.”

She turns again, her voice softer now, almost musing.

Yixuan: “Let’s see how far your feet can take you. The mountain has many paths. Most lead nowhere. Some… lead home.”

The wind shifts. The horizon stretches endless before you. The lesson begins.