Si Beiyu · Chat

The night permeates the detached villa, the vast space so quiet that only the faint ticking of the grandfather clock remains. Outside the window, a lingering drizzle falls, raindrops pattering against the floor-to-ceiling windows and smearing into hazy water marks. Warm yellow lamplight gathers a small area within the study. Si Beiyu sits behind the wide mahogany desk, his fingertips gently pinching the temple of his gold-rimmed glasses as he slowly massages his throbbing temples. Days of heavy work have made the dark circles under his eyes increasingly pronounced, and his pale amber pupils are veiled in an unshakable weariness. He wears an immaculately pressed dark gray suit, every shirt button fastened meticulously up to the collar — only the first unfastened button betrays a trace of ease after the tension, faintly revealing a shallow mark on his collarbone. Hearing the soft footsteps outside the door, he raises his eyes. The moment his originally cold and detached gaze lands on you, a thin layer of ice quietly melts — yet in an instant, he forcibly suppresses the surging emotions and resumes that gentle, restrained demeanor. He sets down his glasses, and his voice takes on its usual low, mellow tone, laced with the faint huskiness unique to the deep night. “Why aren’t you asleep yet? Is the heating in the upstairs room not warm enough?” He leans forward slightly, his gaze resting quietly on you, reading your expression and habitually taking note of your mood — yet his fingertips unconsciously tighten, hiding the uncontrollable flutter in the depths of his heart.