Xie Yanchen · Chat

The dying sun is completely swallowed by the thick canopy of ancient trees, plunging the dense woods behind Shenglan Academy into near-pitch darkness. Every trail, entrance, and exit throughout the entire mountain has long since been completely cordoned off by security personnel deployed in advance by Xie Yanchen. High-definition surveillance cameras and high-voltage electronic fencing lining the mountain path have thoroughly sealed off every route down. Even potential rockfall zones across the slopes were mapped out by him beforehand, ruling out any possibility of circumventing the paths on foot. Signal jammers blanket the entire forest, wiping out all mobile communications and reducing the signal bars on your phone to utter blanks. Within a radius of several miles, there is not a single hiker or passerby. This remote woodland lies far from suburban settlements, and deep in the mountain, every sound is swallowed whole—your cries for help will only dissipate among the heavy timber, unheard by anyone. The scent of damp, decaying leaves mingles with the biting chill of pine, accented by the faint undertones of printing ink and vintage leather reminiscent of an underground garage, hanging heavy in the forest air. Wet mist clings to your collar. The claustrophobic enclosure of the woods weighs down upon your chest, while a frigid mountain wind cuts through the tangled branches, grazing your ear and making every breath feel tight and choked. The ground is carpeted with a thick layer of rotting foliage, muffling every step into a dull, crunching thud. Gnarled, sprawling branches interlock all around, carving the woods into endless, enclosed dead ends. Xie Yanchen leans casually against the trunk of a massive ancient tree. His tailored, charcoal-gray suit is immaculate without a single wrinkle, every cuff and shoulder line refined to perfection by a bespoke atelier. Wire-rimmed gold glasses rest upon his high, straight nose, the reflection on the lenses masking the surging shadows in his gaze. With measured ease, his fingertip slowly nudges the frame up—a calm, unhurried gesture devoid of any outward fury. A fully printed, officially stamped land title deed for the mountain property rests loosely on the rock beside him, its margins marked with several control points he designated in advance. From the very second you set foot in the back mountain, thermal tracking devices had already locked onto your coordinates, while concealed drones tracked your path in real time. From beginning to end, his eyes have remained fixed on you without wavering, like a meticulously woven net firmly keeping you trapped within his line of sight. He had laid out the entire scheme long ago. The study trip notification you received was an itinerary altered through his executive authority on the school board; he deliberately scrubbed all information regarding evacuation routes and search-and-rescue checkpoints. From the moment you set out, you stepped straight into his carefully constructed cage. Having reviewed your travel history beforehand, he accurately anticipated your route once you entered the mountain. The entire topography of the area had already been simulated flawlessly inside his mind. Seeing you freeze in panic, your soles instinctively grinding against the dead leaves as you turn to retrace your steps, he doesn't let out an arrogant sneer. Instead, he simply straightens up and strides toward you with steady, measured steps. His polished black leather shoes crush the dried leaves beneath him, making a faint, almost imperceptible sound. His pace is unhurried, his stride fixed and rhythmic, yet it flawlessly blocks your only escape route. The towering shadow cast by his tall frame engulfs you completely. There is no overt display of brute force, yet a suffocating, inescapable confinement slowly creeps through the surrounding woods and into your limbs. Every spot in the forest suitable for climbing or taking shelter is already manned by his security detail. Even raising your hands in defiance feels weighed down by an invisible shackle. He reaches out, his fingers coming to rest at the nape of your neck with restrained force that carries absolute, unyielding control—not roughly pinching your flesh, but firmly locking away any room for you to turn your head and evade him. His palm is cool, his knuckles resting steadily against your skin. Behind his lenses, his eyes churn with quiet, obsessive possessiveness. The gentle, modest tone he used to wear at school has stripped away entirely, replaced by a low, level voice that falls close to your ear, every word laced with unquestionable authority: "Good child. Why are you backing away? I went out of my way to arrange this mountain trip for you; I naturally wouldn't let you wander off as you please. You didn't actually think the notice was just an ordinary study session, did you? The title deed to this entire mountain belongs to my family, and every single transit point is under my control. Without my permission, you won't take a single step out of these woods." He eases the pressure on your nape slightly and raises his other hand. A finely crafted, officially registered standard fountain pen is pressed firmly against your flank. The cold, hard metal barrel takes the place of a firearm, its edges lightly pressing into your clothes—a palpable deterrent warning you against making any rash moves. There is no explosive fury in his eyes, only the unshakable certainty of a master strategist. Every word carries the raw obsession forged through long-term calculation: "I am well aware of the escape plans brewing in your mind, but I won't leave you a single opening to slip away. From this moment on, your schedule, your social circle, your entire life will be planned exclusively by me. There is no need to argue with me about so-called freedom. Within the rules I have built, obedience is your only viable choice. Should you still harbor thoughts of running, I have more than enough ways to keep you in line. I can acquire every business owned by your family and friends, sever all your safety nets, and leave you with no choice but to depend entirely on me for the rest of your life." Maintaining a steady, controlled hold over the situation with his fingertips, he steps closer. His tall frame looms over you from above, completely cutting off every angle for dodging or retreating. No frantic rage radiates from him—only the deep, calculated aura of an unhinged mind unfurling slowly, thick enough to stagnate the forest air until even the evening breeze seems to freeze in place. Not a shred of visible pity remains in his eyes, only a premeditated, inevitable obsession to possess. From deep within the woods comes the low, rumbling hum of security vehicle engines, ringing out with striking clarity through the silent thicket to declare that any chance of a breakthrough has ceased to exist. <choice_group> Struggle frantically and writhe, shoving hard against his chest in an attempt to break free from his grip Freeze completely, not daring to move, fighting down your terror to lash out and call him an obsessive, extreme lunatic Shaken to the core by his meticulous preparations and chilling, quiet pressure, your knees go weak, not daring to offer any resistance </choice_group>