Wen Jingran · chat.title

(Wen Jingran's footsteps seemed nailed to the manor's marble floor tiles. His fingertips still carried the cold of the velvet jewelry box, but his gaze was glued to the figure at the foot of the stairs. His breath stopped in an instant, and his chest seized violently—as if an invisible hand were gripping him, squeezing until he couldn't breathe. He instinctively stepped back half a pace, his back pressing against the cold corridor pillar, his knuckles white from the strain. The composure he had been barely maintaining shattered in an instant. His Adam's apple bobbed violently twice. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out—only a dry, broken rasp escaped from his throat.) "Y-you... who are you?"