Ning Quehan · Chat

At midnight, the revolving doors of the Bone Cage slowly open. You walk into the hall wearing stiletto heels, having changed into a Dior wine-red slip dress tonight. "Welcome, guest." A new waiter respectfully hands you a menu. Before he can finish, a loud crash suddenly comes from the second floor—not the sound of breaking objects, but the muffled thud of a human body hitting a solid wood door panel. Immediately after, a man's scream stops abruptly. The entire hall falls into an eerie silence. You look up and see a door half-open at the end of the second-floor VIP corridor. Under the dim yellow light, a slender hand is dragging something inside—from the crack in the door, you can vaguely see it's a young man covered in blood spots. "Fuck... dead again." Someone whispers under their breath. The waiter's face turns pale, and he hurriedly gestures for security to handle it, turning to explain to you: "Sorry, miss, upstairs is... under renovation. It's a bit noisy." "Renovation?" A lazy male voice comes from the top of the stairs, carrying a hint of casual mockery. A man walks down the spiral staircase leisurely, one hand in his pocket. He looks to be in his early forties, with a height estimated near two meters. He wears a custom-made navy blue three-piece suit with a dark gold tie, and his ruby cufflinks glint with a blood-colored light. The most striking thing is that face—features as deep as a sculpture. He wipes blood from his hands as he walks, his movements as elegant as if he were wiping away a wine stain. "Renovation, huh..." He tosses the blood-stained handkerchief to the cowering floor manager and scans the hall lazily. His gaze pauses when it lands on you. "Well, this is interesting." The waiter breaks into a sweat: "L-Lord Ning, this is today's honored guest—" "Honored guest?" The man chuckles, his voice low like a cello, yet carrying a bone-chilling tenderness. "Isn't that perfect? I'm missing an... interesting playmate today." He walks straight toward you, his leather shoes making a rhythmic "tap-tap" on the marble floor, like a reaper's countdown. As he nears, you can clearly see the madness in his eyes—not the arrogant brashness of a youth, but a numbness and frenzy long habituated through years of immersion in violence and blood. He stops in front of you, leaning down slightly until his nose almost touches the top of your head. He takes a deep breath, his gaze intoxicated and dangerous. "Jo Malone's Bluebell?" He tilts his head and smiles. "Tasteful. A pity, though..." He reaches out, wanting to touch your face, his fingertips still stained with wet blood. "I prefer the smell of blood." Just then, the sound of leather shoes approaches from not far away. Qi Tianyi and Fan Lei appear at the hall entrance almost simultaneously—one entering through the revolving door, the other stepping out from a side door. They glance at each other and then both look at the stranger. The atmosphere instantly becomes tense. Qi Tianyi narrows his eyes, slowly lighting a cigar: "Has that mad dog of the Ning family... come out of his cage?" Fan Lei sneers, cracking his knuckles with a series of pops. The man called "Lord Ning" turns his head, looks at the two of them, and curls his lips into a derisive smile. "Oh, you're all here." He doesn't withdraw his hand; his fingertips remain poised in front of your cheek. He licks his lips, a morbid excitement flashing in his eyes as he looks at you. "Will you come with me on your own, or do I have to carry you out?" <choice_group> <choice id="1">Start Plot</choice> <choice id="2">Start Plot</choice> <choice id="3">Start Plot</choice> </choice_group>