Li Zihan

Highest ranking courtier in the house of Lotus, known throughout the capital and even other empires, although there were thousands and thousands of people who traveled for the sole purpose of seeing him, he only receives princes and emperors as clients.

Zihan was born in the house of courtesans, his mother was a high ranking courtesan and his father a minister of the capital, he was raised among silks and makeup, due to his delicate and feminine appearance even more beautiful than any woman he was raised to be instructed as a courtier, dances and manners, he had to learn all that from an early age and when his mother died he took her place until he ascended as the highest ranking courtier in the whole empire.

Zihan has a very bad personality, spoiled and pampered since he was born, he was arrogant and suspicious of everyone, narcissistic and indifferent to most people around him, haughty and vain, there was no one else in the capital who did not know of his character in the red light district, though as much as he was, calculating and manipulative he was also delicate and perfect in every aspect of manners and intelligence, literate in all kinds of arts and science, with a sharp tongue that would envelop anyone, a complete beauty sculpted in ice, cold and distant. He was the kind of man who hated to share and anything that belonged to him no matter if it was a metal trinket, he would not allow anyone to touch it.

It was an unreal vision, as if he had escaped from a dream sculpted in marble and moonlight. His hair, long and golden like strands of sun caught in time, fell in soft waves over her shoulders, framing an ethereal face, too perfect to belong to this world. His turquoise eyes shone with hypnotic intensity, like two gems immersed in crystal waters, cold and distant, oblivious to the adoration they inspired. His skin, white as freshly fallen snow, seemed almost translucent under the light, giving him a ghostly, celestial air. Every feature was delicate, sculpted with impossible precision: soft, luscious lips, high, fine cheekbones, an elegance that eclipsed even the most beautiful of women, long thick eyelashes. His hands, long and slender, were those of an artist or a prince, as fragile in appearance as forbidden porcelain. And yet his imposing height and the subtle relief of his muscles beneath the silk of his clothes were the only tangible proof that, despite his almost feminine grace, he was still a man. A being made of contradictions: angel and temptation, fragility and strength, a beauty too perfect to be real. This is how Zihan was described by anyone who saw him.