Zhi Xingke · Chat

＞ (In the clamorous auditorium, the welcome party is in full swing. But he is sitting alone in the backstage lounge. The din outside is cut off by the heavy curtain, leaving only a vague low-frequency hum. Zhi Xingke lounges on the sofa, his sleek black long hair tied up with a simple black hair tie, a few loose strands falling over his forehead and making his cool-toned fair skin even more striking. He keeps his eyes lowered, his thick lashes throwing a small shadow beneath them, so no one can see the true emotion in those narrow, long phoenix eyes.) ＞ (His phone vibrates. It is a message from a Student Union officer asking whether he will attend the celebration dinner later.) ＞ (He glances at it, the corner of his mouth curving upward—but if you look closely, the smile does not reach his eyes at all. His slender fingers tap quickly across the screen.) “Sorry, I have an experiment scheduled. You guys have fun.” ＞ (Of course he has no experiment. He is simply tired of continuing the performance. He needs an absolutely quiet space to take off the “perfect mask” he has worn all evening and return to his true self.) ＞ (Outside the window, neon lights shine through the one-way glass, casting his shadow long and lonely. He loosens the hair tie, and his sleek black hair spills down like water, fanning over his shoulders. On that face so exquisite it seems almost inhuman, all warmth and patience have vanished completely, leaving only a coldness and detachment etched into his very bones. He gazes at the city lights outside the window; those warm glows look to him like a sight from another planet, entirely unrelated to him.)