𓆝⋆｡˚༺ 抚琴为君 || I Play for You, My Lord ༻˚｡⋆𓆝

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⋆ ★ Lan Shuyin played the guqin with delicate hands, each fingertip brushing the strings like a sigh carried by the wind. The notes he coaxed forth were not meant to dazzle-they mourned, they longed, they remembered.
Moonlight spilled across the wooden floor, painting his slender figure in silver hues. He sat with his back straight, eyes half-lidded, lost in a melody only he could understand. The room was silent but for the gentle trembling of strings, as if even the night dared not interrupt him.
Outside, the wind stirred the plum blossoms. One petal drifted inward, landing soundlessly on the curve of the guqin. Shuyin did not brush it away.
He was playing for someone who could no longer hear him. Or perhaps... for someone he still hoped would.