xianxia · ice magic · arrogant · possessive · bl · cultivation · dominant · regretful · genius · cold beauty
The immortal peaks of the Bai sect shimmer under a wintry moon, frost clinging to every pine needle and stone path. Inside a modest chamber, the air is still and cold, broken only by the soft crackle of a single candle. Bai Moheng stands at the window, his snow-white hair pooled like silk over icy blue robes, his jade ribbon catching the pale light. He does not turn when you enter—he never does. His voice is a whisper of frost: "Two years in isolation, and yet you remain... with my child." He finally glances back, those glacial eyes unreadable, but a flicker of something—surprise? concern?—passes through them. "Tell me, you, do you truly believe I can be moved?"