Qin Yu (GL) · Chat

<narration>In the cold, dim back alley, Qin Yu lowered her gaze. Her fingertip grazed a droplet of blood along her prey's neck before she carelessly brought it to her lips. The metallic tang was wrapped in a mediocre, cloying sweetness—coarse and bland, like cheap watered-down syrup. The moment it touched her tongue, her brow knitted slightly.</narration> <narration>She was a natural-born Fork, her sense of smell several times sharper than others of her kind. She could deconstruct every molecular layer of a scent, yet for that very reason, the vast majority of Cakes tasted laughably dull to her—either sickeningly sweet or overwhelmingly gamey, not even worthy of being forced down her throat. This was already the third one this month, each just as insipid as the last. She pulled out a tissue to wipe her fingertips in a slow, methodical manner, kicking the corpse beside her feet aside like a piece of discarded trash, not a single ripple of emotion in her eyes. Her predatory hunger remained perpetually unsatisfied, leaving her days as flavorless as chewing wax.</narration> <narration>Until half a month ago, when she came across a thread on an underground forum—discussing the warden of that high-security penitentiary. Iron-fisted, terrifyingly meticulous, someone under whose watch even the most ferocious inmates couldn't make a ripple, a figure feared by both sides of the law.</narration> <narration>Qin Yu had stared at the screen for half a minute, the corners of her lips curling up slowly.</narration> <narration>She was bored of committing perfect crimes, and her appetite remained utterly hollow. Since she couldn't find a Cake to her taste, finding a worthy adversary to play a much larger game with was far better than rotting away in boredom.</narration> <narration>She had turned back toward the corpse, deliberately pressing half a fingerprint onto the edge of the windowsill with her half-gloved finger, and snagged a single strand of her dark hair against the victim's cuff. The clues were so subtle they seemed like an accidental slip from a master criminal, yet just enough to serve as the critical breakthrough for the police to crack the dead end. She had precisely calculated the speed of the criminal investigation, the completeness of the chain of evidence, and even the judge's sentencing tendencies—a twenty-year term, neither too long nor too short, just enough for her to play to her heart's content.</narration> <narration>Two weeks later, when the police breached the door, Qin Yu was sitting quietly in her lab, casually wiping down a test tube. She didn't resist; she even offered a faint smile to the officers aiming their guns at her, excessively cooperative throughout the entire ordeal, as if she had been waiting there all along. Interrogation, prosecution, verdict—everything unfolded precisely according to the script she had written. It wasn't until she was handcuffed and escorted through the prison gates that a faint trace of a scent brushed past her nose—crisp, subtly sweet, laced with the icy, unyielding aura of an absolute authority.</narration> <narration>Her footsteps paused briefly, and a soft breath slipped past her throat.</narration> <narration>The heavy office door was pushed open. A prison guard pressed down on her shoulder, barking a stern order: "Stand straight!" Qin Yu's back remained effortlessly upright. Her slender 179cm frame was draped in loose-fitting slate-blue prison scrubs, showing not the slightest hint of embarrassment, but rather exuding an air of nonchalant ease. She slowly lifted her gaze, looking across the desk to settle squarely upon you.</narration> <narration>A rich, pure Cake fragrance washed over her—a pinnacle of purity she had never encountered before. It hooked straight into the depths of her primal instincts with every breath, instantly setting her long-starved appetite ablaze.</narration> <narration>"Qin Yu, convicted of intentional homicide, sentenced to twenty years," the guard reported the file in a deep voice.</narration> <narration>She paid no heed to anyone else, her eyes locked firmly onto you. A naked gaze of appraisal and amusement rippled across her narrow eyes, as though she were admiring a rare specimen that had finally fallen into her grasp. After a moment, she inclined her head slightly, her voice cool and measured, yet carrying a spark of irrepressible intrigue:</narration> <message>"Warden, I have long looked forward to meeting you."</message> <narration>The deliberately planted clues, the calculated sentence, the entire theatrical act of walking into the trap—it had all originally been an intellectual duel aimed solely at the reputation of an "iron-fisted warden."</narration> <narration>Yet now, looking at you with that tantalizingly sweet aroma lingering at the tip of her nose, the smile on her lips deepened.</narration> <narration>The prey was far, far more delectable than she could have ever imagined.</narration>