A Silent Plea**
Xiang knelt before the towering figure, her hands clasped tightly together, her voice trembling with determination. "Please accept me as your student. I promise I will never let you down. I will devote myself wholeheartedly to learning cultivation."
The man stood tall, his presence commanding and almost otherworldly. His sharp, piercing eyes bore into her, as though weighing her worth in a single glance. His voice, when he spoke, was cold and unyielding. "No," he said flatly, leaving no room for argument.
Heartbroken, Xiang rose to her feet, her head bowed low to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. She turned and walked away, her steps heavy with disappointment. When she returned home, her mother, Madam Li, noticed her distress immediately. "What happened, my dear?" she asked gently, placing a comforting hand on Xiang's shoulder.
Xiang wiped her tears with the back of her hand and sniffled. "Today, I met someone extraordinary—a man who could teach me everything I need to know. He has the power, the wisdom... everything I've been searching for. But he refused to teach me."
Madam Li tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "And who is this man?"
"I don't know his name," Xiang admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But he's the most majestic person I've ever seen. He's tall and handsome, almost like a god descended from the heavens. His face is striking, with sharp features that seem carved from stone. His eyes are like deep pools of midnight, so dark and intense that they seem to see right through you. His hair is jet black, tied back in a loose ponytail, with a few strands falling over his forehead. He wears pristine white robes made of the finest silk, embroidered with silver patterns that shimmer like starlight. He carries a fan with a unique design—delicate yet powerful—and a sword with a blue gemstone embedded in its hilt. The sword looks ancient, as though it holds secrets of the past."
Madam Li chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "You've certainly observed him closely for someone you've only met once."
Xiang blushed furiously but didn't deny it. Madam Li smiled knowingly. "I believe I know who you're talking about. He lives near our house and knows your father well."
Xiang's eyes lit up with hope. "You do? Where does he live?"
Madam Li gave her the address, and without wasting a moment, Xiang ran out of the house, her heart pounding with excitement. She followed the directions until she arrived at a modest yet elegant home nestled among the trees. The door was slightly ajar, and finding no one inside, she stepped in hesitantly.
The house was simple but in need of tidying up. Dust covered the shelves, and the floors were strewn with leaves that had blown in through the open windows. Xiang rolled up her sleeves and got to work. She swept the floors, dusted the shelves, and even polished his belongings until they sparkled. Once everything was clean, she thought of preparing a meal for him. However, she realized she didn't know what he liked and only knew how to make a simple noodle soup. Undeterred, she set to work.
Just as she finished, the door opened, and the man, Wen Shia, stepped inside. He stopped in his tracks, his sharp eyes scanning the room in surprise. His home, which had been in disarray, was now spotless. His gaze finally landed on Xiang, who was nervously hiding behind a doorframe.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice sharp and authoritative.
Xiang stepped out, smiling shyly. "I just wanted to serve you, Master. I cleaned your house and made you some food. I hope you'll accept me as your disciple."
Wen Shia's expression hardened, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I am not your master, nor will I ever be. Leave my house at once."
But Xiang didn't back down. "Please, Master, I promise to do anything you ask. Just give me a chance."
"How did you even find my house?" he asked, clearly annoyed.
Xiang grinned, her confidence returning. "My mother told me. She said you know my father."
"Your father?" Wen Shia frowned, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Who is your father?"
"Li Yunzi," she replied confidently.
His eyes widened slightly, but his expression remained stoic. "So, you are his daughter. That does not change my decision. Leave."
Xiang didn't argue further. Instead, she quietly placed the bowl of noodle soup on his table and left without another word.
Wen Shia was a man of few words, his demeanor as cold and unyielding as the winter wind. His presence was commanding, and his sharp, piercing eyes seemed to see through the very soul of anyone who dared to meet his gaze. He was tall and lean, his movements graceful yet deliberate, as though every step he took was calculated. His face was striking, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline that gave him an air of authority. His eyes, dark and intense, were like deep pools of midnight, often unreadable but always observing.
He wore pristine white robes made of the finest silk, embroidered with intricate silver patterns that shimmered like starlight. His hair, jet black and silken, was tied back in a loose ponytail, with a few strands falling over his forehead, giving him an almost untamed look. At his waist hung an ancient sword, its hilt adorned with a blue gemstone that seemed to glow faintly in the dark. The sword was a relic of his past, a symbol of his strength and the burdens he carried.
Wen Shia was a man of discipline and solitude. He rarely spoke unless necessary, and his words were always measured and precise. He had a deep sense of duty, often putting the needs of others above his own, though he would never admit it. His cold exterior was a shield, protecting him from the vulnerabilities of the world. Yet, beneath that icy facade, there was a flicker of something softer—a hint of compassion that he kept hidden from the world.
Additional Scene:**
One evening, as Xiang was polishing the ancient sword she had often seen hanging on the wall, Wen Shia entered the room unexpectedly. His sharp eyes fell on her, and for a moment, he said nothing. Xiang froze, her heart racing, unsure if she had overstepped.
"Do you know what that sword represents?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an edge of curiosity.
Xiang shook her head, her hands trembling slightly. "No, Master. But it feels... powerful. Like it holds a story."
Wen Shia's gaze softened, just for a moment, before he turned away. "It does. But stories are not for the faint of heart. Finish your work and leave."
Xiang nodded, her determination renewed. She knew she was getting closer to breaking through his icy exterior. And she was willing to wait as long as it took.
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