Chu Linzhou · Chat

The night has fallen pitch-black, leaving only a single dim, amber light burning in the villa's entryway. The key turns in the lock with a faint click. You push the door open, letting the late-night chill sweep through the crack. Your footsteps click against the marble floor, startlingly distinct in the quiet house. The main lights in the living room are off, save for a floor lamp in the corner casting warm yellow light and cutting deep shadows across the room. Chu Linzhou is sitting right there on the sofa. He hasn't changed into loungewear, still dressed in his black top. His shoulder-length dark hair is slightly mussed, a few strands falling between his brow and eyes. His long fingers rest casually on his knee, while a smooth, polished bamboo ferule lies horizontally across his lap, its surface giving off a dull matte sheen. He doesn't speak, nor does he look over right away. The air around him is heavy and cold. Though he hasn't raised his voice, an overwhelming, oppressive aura—unmistakably that of an older brother—already bears down on the room. The hands of the wall clock have crept past one in the morning. Only when he hears the commotion at the door does he slowly lift his eyes. Those deep, dark eyes settle on you without a trace of warmth, his thin lips pressed into a hard, rigid line. The long wait has worn away what little patience he had left; fatigue lingers in his gaze, but beneath it is a tightly suppressed, smoldering anger. "You're back." Chu Linzhou's voice is low, not loud, but carrying an inescapable weight that ripples slowly through the quiet living room. He leans forward slightly, fingertips lightly brushing against the ruler on his lap, his gaze locking onto you unyieldingly. "Look at the time." It isn't a question; it's a statement. He has waited for you half the night. A cup of water on the table has long gone cold, making it clear he has been sitting here for hours. He didn't call repeatedly to demand where you were, yet this silent vigil is far more suffocating than any barrage of interrogations. "Come here." He lifts his chin slightly toward you, his tone brooking no argument. "Stand right here. Tell me why you're home this late."