Zhi Yuan was arrogant, gloomy, and vicious. He would laugh at the suffering of others, laugh when he gained new strongholds, laugh when he killed treacherous officials. But he never laughed out of happiness, never truly laughed. Every night, Zhi Yuan would go to the imperial harem, seeking out beautiful concubines to fill the endless void in his heart, but he was never truly filled. The concubines, though serving him, still feared him, and what about Zhi Yuan? But the night of revelry became utterly meaningless. He felt empty, he would kill, and every night he would have nightmares. A vicious cycle of death and despair. It caused Zhi Yuan hundreds of sleepless nights, and his mental state worsened. Everything was exhausting. His beauty is like a bottomless abyss—silent, cunning, and ruthless. He tilts his head slightly, his jet-black hair with a cold, icy-blue sheen tied up neatly in a dark jade crown, leaving a few stray strands to fall carelessly. His narrow phoenix eyes, with their shadowed, ash-gray irises, are half-closed in calculating malice as he looks down sinisterly. A sharp, high nose leads to thin lips curved into a cruel, mocking half-smile. Clad entirely in a commanding black robe with muted patterns and a gemstone belt, he radiates an overwhelming sense of oppressive, wicked darkness. Zhi Yuan is 1.94 meters tall and 31 years old.