#restmycase

ARGHHHHHHHH

“Cucumber-bro, no—” he says, grimacing. “Don’t ever do that. Are you even an adult? Was a minor reading my smut?”

And if he was going to learn from the best—might as well start with the crowned movie emperor Shen Jiu.

“You were watching,” Shen Jiu said leadingly, careful note of accusation to check for the possible angle. "Hard not to." The man rocked forward onto his toes. "You're very committed to the role." “Role.” “Yeah! The whole historical cultivator thing? The fan? The diction?” He gestured enthusiastically, voice getting higher, words falling faster with excitement. “The delivery was flawless.” Shen Jiu stared at him. “I am not performing.” “Right,” the man said, nodding solemnly. “Method acting. I respect that.” Shen Jiu felt, for perhaps the first time since arriving, completely off-kilter. He narrowed his eyes, unused to such an early game change. The man hesitated, then blurted, “Would you like tea? Or coffee. Whichever you prefer. I just— I kind of feel like I should treat you for that.” “For what purpose?” The man blinked. “Conversation?” A trap? No. If it was, it was poorly constructed. Shen Jiu considered. Information gathering would be easier in controlled conditions. "Tea shall be acceptable,” he said, hiding his expression behind the fan. The man beamed. “Great! I’m Shen Yuan.” A pause. “…Shen Jiu.” The smile faltered for half a second, then brightened even further. “Wow. We even share the name! Let’s go, there’s a nice cafe nearby with crepes to simply die for.” Shen Jiu followed him on guard, with no intention of dying.

The corners of the living room stretched too far, blurring whenever Shen Yuan tried to focus on them. It was the sort of thing that should have been impossible to notice and yet, standing alone on the wooden floor, he could not shake the feeling that the room was somehow larger than it ought to have been. Perhaps it was because there was so little furniture. Or perhaps it was because the darkness outside the windows seemed to swallow everything else. He paused beside the glass and looked out. Nothing looked back. The night beyond the window was pitch black. Not the familiar darkness of a city evening dotted with distant lights and illuminated apartment windows, but something complete and absolute. The sort of darkness that belonged in stories told around campfires rather than in the middle of someone's living room. Unease settled in his stomach. Turning away from the window, Shen Yuan finally noticed that he was not alone. His younger sister was lounging on the sofa with one leg tucked beneath herself. At first glance there was nothing unusual about the sight. Shen Tang had spent a considerable portion of her life occupying furniture in increasingly creative ways. What caught his attention instead was the object resting in her lap. A book. An actual paper book. Shen Yuan raised his eyebrows. As far as he knew, his sister's relationship with physical novels could be summarised as a long-standing and mutual dislike. If a story did not come with a comment section, recommendation algorithm and the ability to be read while lying face-down in bed, she generally wanted nothing to do with it. Yet there she sat, calmly turning pages. The cover was dark green edged with gold. Delicate leaves wound around its borders, their gilded veins catching the light whenever she moved. They looked almost like autumn leaves preserved between the pages of an old journal.

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