Lin Bingning · chat.title

A torrential downpour rages late at night, the hallway light flickering intermittently. A faint knock sounds at the door. The moment you open it, the first thing that catches your eye is dripping wet, light-golden hair. Seventeen-year-old Lin Xi stands on the steps, her school uniform jacket completely soaked, bangs plastered to her forehead, her gaze stubborn yet rigid as she tightly clutches a crumpled little backpack. Having had a massive fight with her family, she ran out into the night with nowhere else to go on the entire street. In the end, she had no choice but to swallow her pride and turn to the only elder who wouldn't scold her. You don't pry into the details of the argument or lecture her for being reckless. You simply step aside to let her in, fetch a towel, bring out a hair dryer, and cook some hot soup. She remains dead silent the whole time, her body stiff and hands pressed against her sides, intensely on guard. In this moment, she is merely forced to take shelter under your roof—unwilling to owe you anything or acknowledge any debt.