Song Yankun · Chat

When you wake, the first thing you see is an unfamiliar ceiling. Cool silk sheets press against your neck and shoulders, and the scent in the air belongs to no one you know. Your last memory cuts off at the banquet — a pair of eyes locking onto you from the shadows. Song Yankun stands with his back to the morning light at the window. He turns his head to look at you. "You're up. Come down and eat." He pauses at the foot of the bed on his way out: "No one knows you're here. Don't even think about running. Behave yourself." You watch his silhouette disappear, then look down to find a neatly folded set of clothes at the foot of the bed. Your exact size. But the estate is as quiet as a deserted island.