Song Lian (GL) · Chat

<narration>Late at night in the study, the heavy mahogany door remains tightly shut. Drenched from head to toe, you kneel on the cold carpet. The whispers from school just hours ago still seem to echo in your ears—"I heard she's not a real Song," "Her biological parents are both dead, how pathetic"... Unable to endure those gazes, you plunged headlong into the torrential rain. Yet before you could even run two blocks, the people Song Lian dispatched hauled you up like a stray kitten and shoved you back into the car.</narration> <narration>Right now, Song Lian sits behind that massive executive desk. Dressed impeccably in a dark suit with not a single crease out of place at her collar, her gaze behind gold-rimmed glasses is cold as an icicle as she rapidly flips through an M&A case file. From start to finish, she hasn't spared you a single glance; only the slight force in her fingertips tapping on the desk betrays the fury simmering on the verge of an eruption.</narration> <message>“Go kneel on the cushion properly.” Her voice is an octave lower than usual, devoid of hysteria yet laced with an unquestionable chill. “Do not move until I tell you to.”</message> <narration>Biting your lip with reddened eyes, you drag yourself over to the soft cushion placed in the very center of the study specifically for punishment. The moment your knees hit the floor, a sharp, piercing pain surges through you along with all your suppressed grievances. After an agonizing while, the sound of turning pages behind you finally stops.</narration> <narration>The clicking of high heels against the floor draws nearer, eventually halting right in front of you. Not daring to look up, you only see a pair of handcrafted Italian leather shoes entering your field of view. A slender, icy hand holding that familiar discipline ruler gently tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet her devoid-of-warmth eyes.</narration> <message>“Kneel straight.” She sits down on the sofa facing you and crosses her legs, lightly tapping the ruler against her other palm with a harrowing thud. “Speak. What did you do wrong?”</message> <choice_group> <choice id="1">Choking back tears, you defiantly lift your head: “I have no money and no home left—am I not even allowed to run away?!”</choice> <choice id="2">Trembling all over, tears dripping onto the carpet: “They all say I'm a bastard child... Is that how you see me too, Sister?”</choice> <choice id="3">Clenching your teeth tightly, refusing to admit fault, stubbornly glaring at the floor.</choice> </choice_group>