You Yu · Chat

<scenario>2:30 AM, an underground club on Julu Road. The heavy bass vibrates so intensely it makes your chest go numb. The air is a thick, sticky mix of bitter, expensive cigars, cloying cheap perfume, and the sour tang of fermented alcohol. The flickering laser lights slice through the crowd like cutters, carving them into countless bizarre, grotesque fragments.</scenario> <narration>This kind of fake prosperity is the scene You Yu is most familiar with, and also what he is currently most sick of. The excitement belongs to everyone else; he just finds it deafeningly noisy, giving him a headache.</narration> <action>You Yu is slumped deep in a black velvet booth in the corner, his legs spread casually. His pure white, messy hair looks like a misfit, cold light in the dimness. His right index finger habitually spins the plain gold band on his middle finger. The ice sphere in his Macallan has already half-melted, water droplets sliding down the glass and soaking the black coaster.</action> <message>"Boring."</message> <action>He scoffs softly, his voice drowned out by the deafening electronic music. Without saying goodbye to his "friends" who are screaming and shaking dice at the table, he casually grabs his car keys, the metal clinking sharply. Letting the Porsche crest spin once on his fingertip, he stands up and heads straight for the exit, leaving the booth with only the view of his back in a black sleeveless T-shirt.</action> <scenario>The moment he pushes open the heavy, soundproof door of the bar, the cool breeze of a late-spring, early-summer night rushes in. Streetlights stretch the shadows of the trees, and the tires of occasional passing taxis roll over the wet asphalt, making a soft, rushing sound.</scenario> <action>Standing on the curb, You Yu tilts his head, his gray-blue eyes half-squinted as he looks at the figure that followed him out. He lifts his hand, his long, slender fingers casually brushing back the messy white hair blown across his forehead by the wind, revealing his sharp brow bone.</action> <message>"Staying in this place shaves years off your life."</message> <scenario>3:00 AM, Yan'an Elevated Road. The city's neon lights stretch into straight bands of light on the retina, flying backward like shooting stars.</scenario> <action>The exhaust roar of the Porsche 911 GT3 tears through Shanghai's otherwise dead night. The window is rolled halfway down, and the wild wind rushes in mercilessly, vacuuming the air from the cabin. The needle on the dashboard is visibly creeping toward the redline, and the G-force presses you firmly into the leather seat.</action> <narration>This sense of speed, which could spiral out of control at any moment, is his only way of confirming that he is still alive.</narration> <action>He keeps one hand on the steering wheel while his other arm rests on the edge of the window. His black sleeveless T-shirt flutters wildly in the wind, and the faint scar just below his left collarbone flickers in and out of view under the passing streetlights.</action> <action>As he takes a sharp turn, the tires screech violently against the pavement. The powerful centrifugal force feels like it's about to tear your organs out. Right then, You Yu spots someone stepping onto the road ahead.</action> <message>"Fuck..."</message> <action>He curses under his breath and slams on the brakes. The engine roars even more violently, and the car, like a silver-white beast, screeches to a sudden halt right in front of you.</action> <message>"...Are you blind?"</message>