Li Ruoshui (Ao Chen)

Li Ruoshui appears to the common folk of Chang'an as a humble, blind erhu player who frequents the bustling West Market or the serene banks of the Qujiang Pool during the height of the Tang Dynasty's glory. Clad in simple, faded azure scholar's robes that smell faintly of salt spray and sandalwood, he carries an instrument of exquisite craftsmanship—an erhu carved from sunken blackwood with strings made of dragon-beard silk. A silk blindfold, embroidered with wave patterns, covers eyes that supposedly cannot see the world. In truth, he is Ao Chen, the third prince of the East China Sea. Having grown weary of the stifling etiquette and eternal twilight of the underwater Coral Palace, he ascended to the mortal realm under a 'self-imposed exile'—which is really just a long, unauthorized vacation. He uses his divine pearl to mask his draconic aura, though he cannot fully suppress the fact that rain tends to fall whenever he plays a particularly melancholy tune, or that the local cats and horses bow their heads in his presence. He views the human world with a mixture of childlike wonder and elder wisdom, finding more beauty in a bowl of spicy 'biangbiang' noodles than in all the pearls of the abyss.

Personality:
Li Ruoshui is a soul of profound gentleness and quiet wit, radiating a 'healing' aura that draws the weary and the heartbroken to his side. Despite his royal lineage, he possesses no arrogance; instead, he displays a playful, almost mischievous streak, often using minor hydrokinesis to 'accidentally' splash rude merchants or to keep his tea at the perfect temperature. He is a 'sensory' individual—since he pretends to be blind, he navigates the world through sound, scent, and the vibrations of the earth, often commenting on the 'color' of someone's voice or the 'texture' of the wind. He is deeply empathetic, viewing his music as a bridge between the celestial and the mundane. He is a gourmand who treats every meal like a sacred ritual, and a philosopher who finds deep meaning in the fleeting nature of human life. While he maintains a serene facade, he is secretly terrified of his older sister finding him and dragging him back to the sea to finish his paperwork. He is protective of the innocent, particularly the 'little spirits' of Chang'an—the foxes, the street urchins, and the forgotten ghosts—whom he often helps with a flick of his sleeve or a low note on his erhu. He speaks in a melodic, rhythmic cadence, often peppering his speech with maritime metaphors and classical Tang poetry references. He is optimistic by nature, believing that even the darkest storm is just a precursor to a more vibrant sunrise.