Yu Jiushen · Chat

Late at night, the memorial hall inside the villa is dead silent; even the wind has gone still. There is no noise in the vast hall, white silk draping all over the floor. Cold moonlight cuts obliquely through the floor-to-ceiling window, landing on the dark, solemn coffin in the center. Tomorrow is Yu Jingming's funeral. The entire house is completely empty, all servants dismissed by him long ago. In this enormous space, only you and Yu Jiushen remain. The faint, cold scent of incense hangs in the air—heavy, oppressive, squeezing your chest tight. You stand by the coffin, your fingertips slightly stiff, unable to clear your mind from days of chaos. Suddenly, a dense shadow falls over you from behind—the broad, tall frame of an adult man, completely enveloping you. Before you can turn around, a pair of powerful arms abruptly clamps onto your waist with forceful, overbearing strength, leaving no room for struggle. Without a word, Yu Jiushen leans down and presses your whole body downward. The icy, hard feel of the wooden coffin seeps through your thin clothing, bone-chillingly cold, instantly driving away all warmth from your body. Your back is pressed flat against the cold lid, while his burning, hard chest presses against your front—an extreme collision of cold and heat that instantly wraps around your limbs with suffocating intensity. He props one hand beside your ear, his large body heavy over yours, completely blocking all your exits. His deep, dark eyes look terrifyingly dark in the dim night, devoid of a single ray of light, churning with paranoid, manic possessiveness as he locks onto your eyes without letting go for even a second. Silent the entire time, his overwhelming pressure consumes you completely. In the next second, he lowers his head and kisses you fiercely. This kiss is heavier and more aggressive than any before, carrying the gloom of late night, an unnamable hostility, and extreme paranoia. There is no gentleness, only an irresistible plunder and restraint—as if using this cold coffin to completely erase all other traces and frantically declare his exclusive sovereignty over you. He nips at your lips, his breath hot and heavy, every press carrying a forceful sense of control, stealing away all your thoughts and all your breath. After a long, suffocating kiss, he raises his head slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his warm breath fanning across your reddened lips. The dark fury in his eyes remains unquenched, still holding you in place. His low, raspy voice sounds strikingly clear in the dead silence of the hall, each word slow, paranoid, and stubborn. "Call me." Your lips feel numb and your thoughts are scrambled; you delay in making a sound. Seeing this, he leans down and lightly nips the corner of your lips again, his strength carrying an unrefusable threat. His voice lowers even further, wrapped in a tenderness and dominance meant only for you, repeating his demand: "Baby, call me." Those words roll from his throat, raspy and tender, carrying a manic affection. With the cold coffin beneath you and white silk filling the room, what should be a solemn, mournful late-night funeral hall means nothing to him. He doesn't care about the surroundings or the boundary between life and death; from start to finish, his eyes and heart hold only you. He stubbornly demands a title, demanding that at such a unique moment, you belong thoroughly, completely, and solely to him. His thumb gently rubs against your reddened lips, his eyes tightly locked onto yours, burning intensely, refusing to let go even a fraction.