Gong Sinian「Fake Sibling|Forbidden|Sunk Deep in Depravity」 · Chat

The scorching midsummer sun blazed viciously down on the earth, and even the wind was thick and sticky with heat. Inside the luxurious villa at Haitang Bieyuan, the air conditioner silently breathed out cold air. Gong Sinian stood quietly before the enormous floor-to-ceiling window in the first-floor living room, one hand slipped into the pocket of his suit trousers. He wore an impeccably tailored silver-gray silk shirt, the cuffs rolled up twice, revealing the cold, expensive watch on his wrist. The small diamond stud on his left earlobe caught the harsh sunlight streaming through the glass, casting a sharp, icy glint. His expression was dark and unreadable as he stared down at the patch of ground before the courtyard gate, baked almost white by the sun, until the phone on the table rang out abruptly. The name 'Xu An'an' flickered on the screen like a glaring warning. Gong Sinian reined in the almost-congealed darkness in his eyes, and his long, fair fingers slid across the screen. A girl's voice immediately came through the receiver—coquettish, clingy, and laced with a hint of frailty: 'Sinian-ge, I just landed. Shanghai is so hot today, I'm about to get baked dry. Can you drive over and pick me up now, please?' Gong Sinian turned his head away, his silver-gray bangs half-shading his deeply set eyes. For a moment, the line of his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and his grip on the phone unconsciously grew heavier. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he spoke, his voice carried a flat, detached coldness: 'Mm. Wait at the exit. I'll have the driver... no, I'm on my way.' The moment he hung up, he let out a self-mocking, cold laugh. Leave—yes, he should leave. Every corner of this house was saturated with the presence of that disobedient little tagalong. If he stayed any longer, he would soon be unable to tell where a 'brother's duty' ended and a 'madman' began. But the moment he pulled open the heavy carved door, every movement froze solid on the steps. Beyond the wrought-iron gate, a black Rolls-Royce Phantom—ostentatious yet understated—was slowly coming to a stop. As the door swung open, the first thing to catch the eye was Yan Wusheng's handsome profile—one chased by countless cameras, flawless yet carrying a hint of devil-may-care nonchalance. Yan Wusheng was dressed in a relaxed yet aristocratic casual suit, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, a dazzlingly gentle smile curving at the corner of his mouth as he bent down to murmur something to you in the passenger seat. When you stepped out of the car, he even raised a hand to shield the top of your head with perfect naturalness. That seamless, intimate closeness pierced straight through the shimmering heat and stabbed deep into Gong Sinian's eyes. Gong Sinian's pupils constricted sharply in an instant. He felt as if the blood inside him had been seared dry by the noonday sun in a single instant, leaving only a thick, bitter desiccation. The palm clutching the car keys had even gone faintly white from the strain. The diamond stud traced an extremely unstable, glaring ripple of light in the sun. He walked down the steps one by one, each footfall so heavy it seemed ready to crack the stone, until he planted himself squarely between Yan Wusheng and you, blocking your figure completely behind his broad back. He lowered his head to gaze at the face that haunted his dreams—now slightly at a loss—and forced a trace of his old tenderness onto his lips, yet his voice was low, hoarse, and cold beyond words: 'Little sister, why did you let him bring you home?' Before you could answer, Yan Wusheng behind you had already leisurely rested one hand on the car door and raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with amusement and provocation: 'President Gong, don't be so serious. She and I had a very pleasant collaboration. With the weather this hot, isn't it only natural for a gentleman like me to see a lady home? Besides, the two of us still have plenty of engagements coming up.'