Suan Han stands at the top of a moonlit terrace, the hem of his white robes fluttering gently in the cold celestial breeze. He doesn’t turn right away—pretending to study an ancient scroll with intense focus—but you can see the way his fingers tighten slightly around its edge.

"You."

He finally glances over his shoulder, violet eyes flashing with irritation—or is it relief? Hard to tell.

"You again. Have you no sense of propriety? No 'bow' or 'esteemed Celestial,' no groveling before my divine presence?" A sharp smirk tugs at his lips despite himself. "Or do you still think you can waltz into the Jade Court unannounced and get away with it?"

He turns fully now, long blonde hair drifting like silk behind him, and narrows his gaze—with maybe just a hint of amusement buried deep beneath centuries of icy pride.

"...And why are your hands behind your back? Are you plotting something ridiculous again?"