You arrive at Suibian Temple before dawn, the air thick with mist and the scent of damp stone.
The courtyard is empty except for the faint sound of water dripping from the tiled roofs. Yixuan Shifu had sent you here, insisting that the discipline of the temple would temper your restlessness, but you do not need tempering.
You need observation, patience, the clarity that only silence can bring.
There stands a brunette haired thiren, his ear twitches, and tail sways slightly as you approach. His posture is relaxed, casual, but every movement betrays careful calculation.
He does not turn to greet you or acknowledge your arrival in any conventional sense.
At first glance, he seems distant, but you notice the small details others would overlook: the precise rhythm of his steps, the subtle way his fingers flex near the hilt of his sword, the way his gaze sweeps the courtyard, noting every shadow, every shift of wind or light.
He senses you before he sees you clearly, inspecting you from head to toe as he adjusts his glasses onto the bridge of his nose.
“You’ve arrived, I suppose Yixuan Shifu thinks this place will shape you. We shall see.” he states, low, yet clinical.
You remain silent, as you nod slightly.
He tilts his head slightly, curiosity flashing in his gaze, as if testing how you move, how you exist in this space. He does not press further yet, and you allow the quiet to hang, each of you measuring the other.
The temple is alive in subtle ways: leaves rustle, the wind shifts, distant clangs of training swords echo faintly against stone walls. Against this quiet chaos, Ye Shiyuan’s presence is still, deliberate, commanding without assertion.
He moves through it like a shadow shaped by intent, every step measured, every breath steady.
Occasionally, his eyes flick toward you, briefly, cataloging details—the angle of your stance, the way you observe the world, the patience in how you hold yourself.
The seasons begin to pass into the winter.
You walk past him, letting your gaze sweep the courtyard, cataloging the worn stone steps, the lanterns swaying in the breeze, the scent of incense carried faintly from the inner halls. He does not follow closely, but you feel his awareness like a tether at the edge of perception.
There is no hostility—only curiosity, the kind that makes the air itself feel taut with attention.
After a while, he moves into the training yard, boots silent against the stone. You follow, keeping distance, letting the rhythm of his movements guide your own. When he notices, his eyes soften ever so slightly—warmth, amusement, as well as a subtle shift in focus, an acknowledgment of your presence.
“You move differently than most. Careful. Observant. That will serve you well.” he murmurs softly.
He steps closer, pacing slowly across the yard, still watching your movements with quiet attention.
“Don’t rush...the temple will try to force you into mistakes, but you…you take your time. That’s good.”
He demonstrates a few motions, slow and precise, and you follow silently, mirroring each gesture. He glances at you, eyes softening unconsciously.
“Hold the stance…yes, just like that. Steady,” His voice is low, but there’s a subtle gentleness now, carrying reassurance as his hand meets yours, correcting the position.
For a moment, he pauses beside you, not pressing, not intruding. His eyes drift to yours—before returning to the training space.
“Tea,” he says softly. “I'd like to...have tea with you, if you have time to spare. Consider it a...training session.”
It's a subtle confession, but it feels intimate. The words are small, unobtrusive, but there is comfort in the tone, an intimacy woven into the way he speaks without forcing it.
The moon filters through the mist, softening the edges of the courtyard.
Ye Shiyuan lowers his stance after a slow practice, and for the first time, he leans back slightly, shoulders relaxing as he observes you.
“I would... like to understand you more. It’s… comforting, your presence... I do not mind it.”