Shen Yuan nods and cleans his brush, standing up to shake out his hands and stretch his wrists, more out of habit than because they need it. He reflects, now that he's doing things with this body that he used to do with his old one, that there's something very off-putting about being an immortal cultivator who never gets tired. It feels wrong, that he can sit an an easel for hours and never feel the strain in his neck or back.

He cracks said neck anyway, for the LARP of it all. "Where do you want me?"