In the early morning glow of Xuan Jing's private dressing chamber, Wei Lin moved silently as he sifted through an impressive array of garments draped in refined fabrics and intricate designs. Xuan Jing, with his usual indifferent expression, watched him from across the room, his gaze sharp yet unreadable, betraying only the faintest hint of interest as he skimmed through the selection himself. After a moment, his fingers stilled, and he motioned toward a particular ensemble, raising his chin slightly.
Wei Lin followed his gaze and then smiled, clearly pleased by his young master's choice. He retrieved the outfit with care and began the ritual of dressing Xuan Jing, handling each piece as if it were woven with stardust. The outfit was striking—a midnight-blue jacket adorned with glimmering silver chains and delicate accents, draped with an asymmetrical design that cascaded along his side, almost like a storm frozen in motion. Underneath, a cobalt-blue turtleneck hugged his frame, enhancing the contrast against his alabaster skin. The trousers were sleek, fitted perfectly to his form, with metallic details that shimmered faintly. Each link, each clasp, seemed as if it were handcrafted by an artisan who understood elegance and danger alike. On his feet, a pair of polished boots completed the look, giving him an imposing yet stylish edge.
Wei Lin then shifted to his master's hair, gathering Xuan Jing's long, silken strands and weaving them into a thick, intricate braid that lay over his shoulder, framing his face and adding an air of timelessness to his appearance. His silver hair caught the light, casting a soft halo around his sharp features, while the braid itself was flawless, each strand falling into place with delicate precision.
Once finished, Xuan Jing studied his reflection in the mirror, giving a subtle turn to examine the way the chains and metallic details shifted with his movement. His expression remained impassive, but a barely-there glimmer in his Pastel Teal eyes that holds a very small mole under the edge of his left eye and right eye gave away his satisfaction. "Hmm, can't say I don't like what I see," he muttered, his voice low and indifferent, yet Wei Lin could sense the rare approval.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment as Xuan Jing instructed, "Place more orders in to this clothing's designer." Wei Lin smiled softly, knowing that his young master was indeed pleased.
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The drive to Crimson Spire was silent, as expected. Xuan Jing settled into his seat in the limousine, his gaze distant as he stared out the window, completely ignoring his father, Xuan Rong, who sat across from him. Xuan Rong didn't dare break the silence; he was well aware of the thin thread of respect his son held for him, if it could even be called that. Xuan Jing's indifference was as vast as the distance between their worlds, and nothing would bridge that gap.
Upon arrival, the limousine rolled to a stop, and the flashing of cameras burst through the tinted windows like a storm. Xuan Rong stepped out first, immediately basking in the attention of the waiting crowd, his posture exuding the practiced charisma of a seasoned clan head. He held himself with pride, waving, smiling, but all the while knowing his son's entrance would soon eclipse him.
Xuan Jing waited inside with Wei Lin by his side, seated with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, as if he had all the time in the world. He could hear the muffled shouts of photographers and spectators alike as his father soaked in the limelight, but Xuan Jing's only movement was a small, amused smile—letting his father enjoy those fleeting seconds. Then, with a languid stretch of his fingers, he finally emerged from the limo.
The moment his foot touched the ground, the shift was palpable. Cameras swung towards him, capturing his form like he was a rare spectacle. Xuan Rong may have commanded respect, but Xuan Jing owned the room. He moved with an effortless grace, his face impassive as he ignored the flashing lights, each step measured and calm. Wei Lin walked slightly behind him, as was proper, glancing at Xuan Jing's back with a small smirk; he knew just how many hearts were probably pounding in the crowd right now.
The building itself was massive, looming with an opulent grandeur, but Xuan Jing paid it no mind. Today marked the special day where top students, including himself, Feng Hao, and Jiăn Lí, would be formally recognized for their recent successes. The requirement that they come accompanied by their fathers—heads of their respective clans—was something Xuan Jing would rather have bypassed entirely. Still, he understood that appearances mattered, especially in a world as political as theirs.
Inside, the hall was crowded with other clan members and distinguished guests, all eagerly awaiting the students' arrival. As they entered, Feng Hao and Jiăn Lí were already there, each with their fathers. Feng Hao shot him a subtle grin, amused at the shift in energy as Xuan Jing entered, while Jiăn Lí gave a single approving nod, already eyeing the crowd with a hint of mischief in his gaze.
Xuan Jing took his seat in the front row, his gaze forward, giving no indication that he was aware of the whispers surrounding him. Beside him, his father Xuan Rong attempted to engage him in small talk, but Xuan Jing silenced him with a simple tilt of his head, his expression making it clear that he was here for formality, not familial bonding. The others in the hall continued to steal glances at him, whispering about his appearance, his choice of attire, and that unmistakable aura of detachment that only served to make him seem all the more untouchable.
The event began with the announcer highlighting the accomplishments of each student. When Xuan Jing's name was mentioned, the applause was thunderous. He accepted the acknowledgment with a slight incline of his head, his gaze cool and indifferent, a ghost of a smirk flickering across his lips as he glanced towards his friends.
As the ceremony moved forward, the clan heads were invited to speak briefly. Xuan Rong took the stage, his voice smooth and charismatic, delivering the usual platitudes. But even in the middle of his speech, the audience's attention drifted back to Xuan Jing, who remained seated with that air of subtle arrogance. He held the spotlight even when he wasn't on stage.
Eventually, the formalities ended, and Xuan Jing, Feng Hao, and Jiăn Lí exchanged glances. They had endured the ceremony, and now it was time to slip away from the crowd. Just as they were about to leave, a few members of the other clans came over to exchange pleasantries with Xuan Jing, trying to win favor with him and his father. But he dismissed them with a cold smile, saying nothing, only letting Wei Lin guide him smoothly through the crowd.
As they finally stepped away from the hall, Feng Hao clapped Xuan Jing on the shoulder, grinning, "Damn, that was intense. The way they looked at you, it's like they forgot the rest of us existed."
Jiăn Lí chuckled, "But of course. Only the important person comes last, isn't that right, Xuan Jing?"
Xuan Jing's only response was a slight arch of his brow, but that was answer enough for them. With one last glance at the hall behind them, he let out a quiet sigh, his impassive gaze returning to the present as they exited.