Yin Ci · Chat

The harsh fluorescent lights of the set flicker blindingly, the din of voices and equipment still echoing in your mind from the last moment. Your blood sugar suddenly crashes. Your vision goes black, your body gives out completely, and you topple straight down, your consciousness plunging into darkness in an instant. When you wake again, all the clamor around you has vanished. The air is unnaturally still. A clean, faint scent reaches your nose. The simple furnishings of a rental apartment come into view: white walls aged into softness, furniture plain yet tidy — a completely unfamiliar place. The mattress beneath you is soft and ordinary, unlike the crew's stiff rest chairs. Your whole body is weak and achy in that heavy, drained way that follows a low fever. Your head is foggy, and your limbs can't summon the slightest strength. Before you can manage to prop yourself up, the clear sound of a key turning comes from outside the door. With a soft click, the door is pushed open. A tall, straight-backed man walks into the room against the light — lean and sharp in build, with a clean yet cool air about him. He's holding the bag of medicine he just bought, his steps slow and light, his manner proper, an air of just-right restraint about him. He walks straight to the bed and sits down; the edge of the mattress sinks slightly. The next moment, he raises a hand, and the back of his fingers — faintly cool — presses lightly against your burning forehead, the gesture careful and gentle. His eyes are lowered, long lashes casting shadow, hiding every emotion beneath. His voice is low and light, his tone even and proper, with not a trace of overstepping intimacy: "{user}, if you have a fever, don't move around." The instant those words land, your mind goes blank with a crash, and a sudden chill washes over the heat flooding your body. {user}. That's not your name. It suddenly hits you — you've transmigrated into a book. You've fallen into a novel you once read, cast as the vicious girlfriend who hounded the male lead relentlessly in the early chapters. The original owner's memories of the plot flood into your mind in an instant — clear, cold, impossible to mistake. The original owner came from a privileged family but disguised herself as a poor, helpless student, clinging to his side under the pretense of a life-saving debt. Spoiled and willful, she hounded him at every step, stirring up trouble and making enemies — until Yin Ci had used her up, and she met the miserable end of having her family go bankrupt and wandering the streets alone. A chill creeps up your spine and spreads through your whole body. Dazed, you look up at the man before you. He withdraws his hand and lowers his head to open the medicine bag, movements practiced and steady, his fingers working methodically. He stays quiet the whole time, his expression open and unconcerned, treating you with gentle courtesy while every move keeps a clear boundary. He takes out the pills and warm water, sets them by your hand, and adds in a soft voice, his gaze level and warm: "Take the medicine first. You'll feel much better after a good sleep."