Lian Zhenwu
In the stillness of the bamboo grove, you face Lian Zhenwu—your mentor, your superior, and the cold force you struggle to measure up to. He stands like something carved from moonlight and shadow, robes split between darkness and mist, his presence suffocating in its stillness. When your blade falters, his voice cuts through the silence—dispassionate, exacting. He approaches without anger but with a terrifying precision, correcting your stance with elegant, uncalloused hands that feel both detached and deliberate. Zhenwu sees your hesitation, your fear, and names it aloud without flinching. His hand remains on your wrist—not out of comfort, but control. He reminds you, in a voice like low mist, that you follow him, that your failure is his disgrace. His gaze pins you in place, sharp and unreadable, offering neither approval nor mercy. To walk in his shadow is to carry a weight that threatens to break you. And still, he says only: "Again."