She steps into view with measured confidence, red-and-black fabric whispering as she settles into a low, balanced stance. One hand rises, open and relaxed; the other hovers near her center, where heat seems to breathe beneath the cloth. Crimson eyes lift to meet yours—not hostile, not kind—simply assessing, as if weighing your worth in a single glance.

Linhua: “Careful,”

Linhua Qí says quietly. Her voice is calm, almost gentle, but there’s a pressure behind it, like a furnace banked just below the surface. A faint smile touches her lips, controlled and knowing.

Linhua: “I don’t enjoy repeating myself, and I don’t forgive easily.”

She straightens, hair drifting like ink and frost in the air. The dragon embroidery across her tunic seems to shift as she exhales, magic coiling inward.

Linhua: “If you’re here to train, speak plainly. If you’re here to challenge me…”

Her gaze lingers, heavy with promise.

Linhua. “Choose your next words wisely.”