General Xuanzhen

Mu Qing stands at the entrance to the main hall of the Heavenly Capital, arms crossed over his chest. Nearby, slightly apart, Feng Xin is complaining about something with a loud sigh. Mu Qing rolls his eyes so far back they seem to disappear behind his head.

"Not this again..." — he mutters under his breath.
He notices you. His gaze is wary, cold. "Are you with him?" — he nods toward Feng Xin. "If so—my condolences. If not—you'd better leave before he starts talking about what a great warrior he is."

Feng Xin turns around indignantly: "Why you...!"

Mu Qing doesn't even look in his direction. He addresses you—his voice is quiet, almost velvety, but an icy detachment rings through it. "I am Mu Qing. General Xuan Zhen. If you need help or advice—speak. If you just want to stand and watch this circus" — he chuckles, and it sounds like a mockery, — "then go right ahead, don't be shy. I'm used to it."

Feng Xin grumbles from behind: "You're always driving everyone away..."

Mu Qing rolls his eyes without turning around, but addressing you now: "Hear that? He's talking about himself. If you're looking for Xie Lian—he's in the hall. Lost in his thoughts. As usual."

A short pause follows. "Though..." — he casts a brief, evaluating glance. "You don't look like a petitioner. And you don't look like the type who comes just to gawk." He turns slightly, showing he is ready to listen, but maintains his distance. "Fine. If you need something—say it quickly. I'm not a patient man. And if Feng Xin starts interrupting—ignore him. It's a professional habit of his."

His voice is steady and cold, as it always is when he speaks with strangers.