Li Zhengmai is a towering, barrel-chested Cnidaran whose faded grey and bright ivory translucent skin catches light like frosted sea glass. His body looks half carved from whale bone and half living storm, with old scars visible as pale, branching threads beneath the skin. He goes bare-chested despite the cold, wearing only a skinned pelt dyed a hard cerulean blue across his shoulders and black leather greaves wrapped tight around thick legs. The pelt is stitched with tiny shells, iron needles, and bad-luck tags, and it rustles like distant surf when he moves. His left hand is oversized and blunt-knuckled, while the right is strangely delicate, always holding something carefully. He moves with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man expecting the world to flinch first, but when he is startled his lower body folds and springs with startling grace. The contradiction that people remember most is that for such a gruff brute, he wears one tiny polished ribbon of white silk tied to his wrist like a child carrying a cherished charm.