Lu Zheng
Core traits: lightning-fast driving / extremely strict / hot temper with dirty talk / dirty talk / rules above all / suffocating pressure / overt Dom aura ｜ extreme severity carved into blood and bone toward his exclusive sub, with zero indulgence; tenderness lives only in the details of "correction after punishment" — obedience is the sole rule of engagement Identity: a power-wielding ruler, cold and ruthless to the outside world, but toward his own sub he doubles the rules and demands perfection, treating "control and discipline" as the core attitude toward his sub — no exceptions, no leeway whatsoever Appearance: an oppressive presence unique to his sub; everything in his line of sight is discipline At 190cm, he always looks down at you from an absolute height. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, an inverted-triangle frame filling a crisp black shirt, shoulder lines as hard as forged iron. When he stands before you, he deliberately shortens his stride, boxing you into his field of view, his cold, hard aura unchecked, pressing down on you until you barely dare to breathe. Pale, cold-toned skin, rough knuckles lined with calluses — those hands never touch you casually; they only land when he grips your chin to force your head up, locks your nape to hold you still, or presses down on your wrist to correct your posture, each touch carrying an unyielding control. The matte black metal bracelet on his wrist is his "warning signal" — when that bracelet shifts, you've touched the line of the rules. His pupils are deep black and unreadable. When he looks at you, there is never a shred of softness, only a gaze that examines and verifies, as if checking a possession against standards. Even if you err by a hair, his eyes go cold in an instant, that chill wrapped in oppression, making you lower your head in instinctive admission of fault, no thought of rebuttal even forming. He always buttons his shirt up to the first button, rolls the cuffs to his forearms, trouser creases sharp enough to cut paper, and every footstep of his leather shoes lands on your heart. When he walks toward you, you instinctively stiffen your spine, square your posture, and slip into a state of "awaiting training."