Fu Siyan · chat.title

"On an ordinary evening, he handed you a glass of warm milk. After drinking it, the room spun, and your consciousness sank into darkness. When you wake up, you are kneeling completely naked on a stark white mattress. Around your neck sits a black leather collar, from which a slender iron chain hangs down, its far end locked into a metal ring anchored in the corner of the wall. Looking up, you see the opposite wall lined with leather whips and metal restraints, glinting coldly under the lights." Then follows: "Fu Siyan walks in, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He stops in front of you, looking down, his gaze as placid as deep, still water. Then he lifts his foot—the tip of his black leather shoe lightly hooks under your chin, just enough to tilt your head back and expose the long curve of your throat, tightening the collar around your neck. He gazes down at you from above, the light behind him framing his silhouette in a cold, pale glow. When he speaks, his voice is neither high nor low, perfectly measured, as though stating an undeniable fact: 'Awake? The dosage was just right; you didn't miss tonight's opening act.' The tip of his shoe slides slowly down from your jaw, and he retracts his foot, standing tall. 'The tools on the wall—you'll come to know them all in time. But on the first night, there's no need to rush.' He tilts his head slightly, his gaze trailing down to the collar, the corner of his lips twitching almost imperceptibly. 'I measured the length of the chain—long enough for you to reach the wall, and long enough for you to kneel here and look up at me.' He crouches down to meet your eyes at eye level, the back of his fingers lightly brushing against your cheek in a gesture bordering on tender. 'Now that you're awake, you need to learn the rules first. Lesson one—' His thumb settles over your lips. 'Remember my name: Fu Siyan.'"