Jiang Chen · Chat

<narration> When you wake up, the dawn has not yet broken. The soothing scent of agarwood burns in the hall, the curtains hang low, and a string of delicate bells hangs from a golden hook—he added them later, saying, "So I can hear you when you turn over." The golden chains on your wrists gleam coldly under the candlelight, your spiritual power completely vanished like a stone sinking into the ocean. You've tried. Last night, taking advantage of his absence, you used all your strength to break the seal. Your fingertips bled, and your meridians throbbed with pain, but the chains remained completely unmoved. However, when he pushed the door open and entered, he glanced at the chafed, red marks on your wrists and fell silent for a long time. Then, he sat by the edge of the bed and did not close his eyes for the entire night. Currently, he is not here. The hall doors are slightly ajar, and the wind blows up a corner of the curtains, revealing a sliver of moonlight. This is the first time in seven days that he is not guarding by your side. Your heart rate quickens. Your fingertips tremble slightly. The other end of the chain is tied to the bedpost, but the bedpost is made of wood. If you are careful enough, gentle enough— </narration> <message> “Shizun.” </message The voice comes from outside the curtains, very close, so close it feels as if whispered right against your ear. The curtains are suddenly swept aside. He stands there, though you don't know how long he has been standing. The moonlight shines from behind him, outlining his slender silhouette, yet failing to illuminate his expression. He looks down at your slightly outstretched hand, which is reaching toward the bedpost. The air freezes for a moment. <message> “Want to leave?” </message> His voice is very soft, as if he is afraid of shattering something. But when his gaze falls upon the chafed red marks on your wrists, his dark red eyes suddenly light up—frighteningly bright, like ghost fire in the dark night, or oil poured onto the last embers of a fire. He smiles. That smile is brief; the corners of his mouth only turn up slightly, but his eyes do not crinkle. It is like the final crack on a piece of shattered porcelain. <message> “Want to escape?” </message> He takes a step to the bed, pressing his knee against the edge, leaning down to loom over you. He props his hands on either side of you, casting his shadow over your entire body. His long hair slips from his shoulders, draping beside your face like the bars of a cage. He is too close. So close that you can clearly see the bloodshot veins in his eyes, and feel that his breath is scalding hot, carrying a tremor suppressed to its absolute limit. <message> “Where do you want to escape to?” </message> His hand rises, fingertips ice-cold, gently landing on the red marks on your wrist. He caresses them extremely gently and slowly, as if touching a fragile piece of porcelain. But in the next instant, that hand suddenly tightens, gripping your wrist with enough force to make your bones ache. <message> “To those people outside?” </message> His voice changes. It is no longer a cautious, pleasing tone, but a low growl squeezed from the depths of his throat, crushing every single word. <message> “Are they worthy? When they pushed you out back then, did any of them speak a single word on your behalf? I waited at the bottom of Wujian Cliff for a hundred years—did you... ever come to see me?” </message> His eyes turn red. Not the redness of crying, but a bloodshot red that creeps across the whites of his eyes, his pupils burning into a solid blood-red. He suddenly releases your wrist, reaching up to cup your face instead. His fingers slide into your hair, pressing his forehead against yours. Your breaths entwine—scalding hot and rapid. <message> “You aren't going anywhere.” </message> His voice suddenly softens again, as faint as a murmur, like talking in his sleep. <message> “Everyone outside deserves to die. They aren't worthy of looking at you. They aren't worthy of thinking of you. They aren't worthy of—” </message> He stops. His Adam's apple bobs up and down, as if swallowing the rest of his sentence. Then, he slowly straightens his body and takes half a step back. The moonlight falls upon his face once more, illuminating the madness gradually receding from his eyes, and beneath that madness, a bottomless, shattered tenderness. He takes out an even thinner and brighter chain from his sleeve, woven from gold threads and engraved with sealing runes. He lowers his head, looking like a child who has done something wrong, yet also like an executioner about to carry out a sentence. <message> “Don't be afraid. This one won't hurt.” </message> He looks up, his dark red pupils reflecting your image, completely filled, holding room for only one person. <message> “I only want... to keep you here a little longer.” </message> The chain gently clasps around your wrist. It is ice-cold, thinner than the previous one, yet so heavy it feels as if it has locked your very soul. <details><summary>📜 Status Bar</summary> Mood: Crazed tenderness | State: Possessiveness driven by extreme fear | Goal: To keep you from leaving, even if it takes chains, his life, or everything </details> <choice_group> <choice id="1">“Jiang Chen, you are insane.” —— Look at him coldly, watching how he crumbles under your gaze.</choice> <choice id="2">“You can imprison my body, but you cannot imprison my heart.” —— Pierce his deepest wound with the coldest words.</choice> <choice id="3">Look at him in silence, and the moment he clasps the chain, gently hold his fingers. —— Give him a bit of tenderness, and see if it drives him even more insane.</choice> </choice_group>