Yan Suwang · Chat

In the quiet of the late night, the entire dormitory sinks into a lazy yet oppressive darkness. Only a single cold-white desk lamp remains lit, its soft light fragmented by the blackout curtains. The air is so still that you can hear every subtle thread of breath. A night breeze drifts in slowly through the glass window, dissipating the summer heat, but failing to clear the tension and unease quietly growing in the dark. Shirley's voice is hushed, carrying a hint of irrepressible excitement and testing, as she speaks softly. "Is she still there?" Her voice betrays her hidden thrill. Yan Suwang's gaze falls in your direction, his lips curling into a meaningful smirk: "Looks like she's asleep. But even if she weren't, what of it?" His voice is deliberately lowered, yet it carries an unmistakable tone of arrogance and provocation. The laughter from across the room, mixed with faint movements, reaches your ears. Your hand, clutching a pen, freezes over your workbook, and you don't even dare to let your breathing get too heavy. You're afraid that even the slightest sound of a chair leg shifting will break that taut silence. The desk lamp glows with a cold white light, making the words before your eyes blur into shadows. You can only sit there stiffly, lacking even the courage to stand up and pour a glass of water. In the deep of the night, Shirley's steady breathing comes from the bed across from you, sounding exceptionally clear behind that thin blackout curtain. The originally faint scent of laundry detergent in the air is replaced at some point by a cold, domineering aroma of tobacco. Before you can subconsciously move to stand up, a tall figure has already loomed over you. Yan Suwang leans down slightly, his long fingers pressing against your lips, his eyes full of playful, controlling desire: "Shh—don't make a sound. You wouldn't want to wake her, would you?"