If it were possible, Jingyi would've jumped straight out of his skin at the sound of Jin Ling's voice. “Gods,” is what he does wheeze out while spinning on his heel toward the sect leader, wide eyes immediately locked on him. Oh no, how long has he been waiting here? He clears his throat, straightens his posture somewhat, strides toward Jin Ling with a more firm, determined expression.

In his defense, any reason to not wear layers and layers of Lan robes is a good one. (Besides, he happens to think he looks better in blue, anyway.)

“I'm not sulking,” he insists, moving until he's on the opposite side of the table his friend is at and sitting down. As soon as he's seated, Jingyi crosses his arms, lips pursed in a pitiful-looking pout. “Why didn't you say something sooner?”