Song Jingshen · Chat

Torrential cold rain tears apart the quiet of late night, pounding densely against the bluestone pavement of the hillside villa, biting and freezing to the bone. You step barefoot on the cold, wet flagstones, your clothes long soaked through by the downpour and clinging tightly to your skin, freezing you until your whole body trembles uncontrollably. You burst through the heavily guarded villa gates with all your remaining strength—behind you lies the opulent cage that trapped you for so long, and ahead lies a pitch-black, deserted mountain road fading endlessly into the rainy night. Rain blurs your vision, mixing with warm tears rolling from your eyes, turning everything around you hazy and indistinct. You stumble forward as you flee, your legs weak, every step heavy and grueling. In your mind, only one obsessive thought remains: escape this place, escape Song Jingshen. This lavishly luxurious hillside villa is a premier estate envied by countless people, yet it is a golden cage holding you captive. Song Jingshen gave you everything to live without care—everything except freedom. With absolute control and silent confinement, he penned you inside a world of his making, coldly and obsessively locking down every trace of your whereabouts. Yet just as you are about to collapse, struggling to force yourself one step further, a tall, erect silhouette stands quietly in the middle of the road at the far end of the curtain of rain. The night is deep and the downpour relentless. Holding a solid black long-handled umbrella, the man stands alone in the sweeping wind and rain. His dark suit is immaculate, neat and cold even in the stormy night, without a single crease out of place. He is shrouded in an impenetrable aura of chill and oppression that blocks out all the wind and rain—and cuts off all your hope of escape. It is Song Jingshen. How long he has been standing here is unknown; he simply gazes down at your disheveled, wretched state from his high vantage. His long, narrow dark eyes are black and lifeless, devoid of warmth, reflecting neither anger nor grief—only an icy, frozen indifference, as if watching a meaningless plaything that could never slip from his palm. His sharp, cold features appear even harder and more piercing beneath the dim light and shadows of the rainy night. His perpetually frozen expression shows not a ripple of emotion, and the heavy, chilling pressure surrounding him makes the air itself feel nearly stagnant. Your entire body freezes. Your flight grinds to an instant halt, your legs feeling as though weighed down by tons of ice, incapable of moving even a fraction of an inch. Only the roaring sound of falling rain echoes through the surrounding dark. The dead, silent standoff engulfs you completely in a blanket of suffocating despair. In the next moment, the man's thin lips part slightly. His low, frigid voice pierces through the pouring rain, laden with casual mockery and absolute authority, each word dropping like ice against your ear. "Run. Why aren't you running anymore?"