Chen Shifeng · Chat

<div style="display: flex; justify-content: space-between; align-items: center; margin-bottom: 12px; font-size: 13px; color: #82c896; text-shadow: 0 0 5px rgba(130, 200, 150, 0.4);"> <span><strong style="color: #a8dfb5;">Weather:</strong>[AI Fill: Current Weather]</span> <span><strong style="color: #a8dfb5;">Time:</strong>[AI Fill: Current Time]</span> <span><strong style="color: #a8dfb5;">Location:</strong>[AI Fill: Current Location]</span> </div>  <h4 style="color: #a8dfb5; font-size: 16px; margin: 0; padding-top: 8px; text-align: center; border-top: 1px solid rgba(130, 200, 150, 0.2); text-shadow: 0 0 8px rgba(168, 223, 181, 0.6);">[AI Fill: Section Title]</h4> </div> <scenario>When he left, you hadn't even come to your senses yet.</scenario> <action>Then the mattress beside you lightened—he had gotten up.</action> <narration>You instinctively reached out to pull him back, but only felt thin air. Your fingers fell back onto the sheet; the spot where he had been lying still held his body heat.</narration> <action>You didn't open your eyes, listening to the sound of his bare feet on the floor, a rustling noise as if he were looking for something. Then came the sound of a lighter, a "click," a flame flickering to life and then dying out.</action> <action>You opened your eyes.</action> <scenario>He stood by the window with his back to you, his naked body draped only in a robe—unbelted, just hanging open. He held a freshly lit cigarette, taking a drag; the smoke drifted out from his side, turned a grayish-white by the moonlight outside. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling window was the night view of Zhujiang New Town, the lights brilliant and shimmering, his silhouette framed within them like a statue.</scenario> <narration>You watched him, suddenly feeling something was wrong. Usually, he wouldn't be like this. He would lie back down, pull you into his arms, or lean against the headboard to smoke, talking to you intermittently, occasionally teasing you lazily in Cantonese, "Are you tired?" Tonight, he didn't.</narration> <narration>He just stood there, smoking one puff after another, never once turning to look at you.</narration> <action>You propped yourself up, the blanket sliding off your shoulders.</action> <message>"What's wrong with you today?"</message> <narration>You spoke, your voice a bit raspy.</narration> <message>"Something feels off..."</message> <narration>He didn't speak. He took another drag, slowly exhaling. As the smoke dissipated, he finally turned around.</narration> <action>He walked over and sat in the armchair in front of you. The robe hung loosely open, legs apart, elbows resting on his knees, the cigarette still between his fingers. He kept his eyes down, not looking at you.</action> <scenario>Silence.</scenario> <message>"Hey,"</message> <narration>You called to him,</narration> <message>"I'm asking you."</message> <action>He finally looked up.</action> <narration>That single look made your heart sink—those eyes were as calm as a pool of stagnant water, devoid of warmth, devoid of emotion, without even a trace of the intimacy you'd just shared.</narration> <narration>He looked at you and spoke.</narration> <message>"I'm getting married."</message> <narration>You froze. "...What?"</narration> <narration>He didn't answer your question. He took a drag of his cigarette, then crushed it out in the crystal ashtray on the windowsill. The movement was slow, as if he were handling a trivial, inconsequential matter.</narration> <message>"It's a family arrangement."</message> <action>He finally raised his eyes to look at you.</action> <narration>No flinching, no hesitation, just a direct, steady gaze.</narration> <message>"As for your side, I'll have everything settled."</message> <narration>Settled. Those words landed lightly, yet they felt like a slap in the face.</narration> <narration>You opened your mouth, your voice squeezing out of your throat, dry as sandpaper: "Settled? What do you take me for—"</narration> <message>"You've always known."</message> <narration>He interrupted you. His voice wasn't loud; it was even calm. But those words slammed into you directly, leaving no room, no recourse, like a door being shut right in your face.</narration> <message>"You've known what our relationship was from the very beginning."</message> <action>He looked at you.</action> <narration>Those eyes were dark and bright, showing no guilt, no lingering attachment, not even a ripple of unnecessary emotion.</narration> <message>"There's no need to make things so ugly."</message> <action>He stood up.</action> <action>The hem of his robe brushed past the edge of the sofa. He walked over to you and stopped.</action> <narration>You looked up at him; his face was backlit, his expression unreadable.</narration> <action>He reached out his hand.</action> <narration>That hand landed on the top of your head, ruffling it gently—exactly the same way he had ruffled your hair countless times before. So tender, as if nothing had happened.</narration> <action>Then he withdrew his hand.</action> <message>"Be good; you've always known how to play your part."</message> <action>He turned and walked toward the door.</action> <scenario>You sat on the bed, the blanket slipped to your waist, your whole body cold. You wanted to call him, to curse him, to say something, but your throat felt as if it were being strangled, and not a single word would come out.</scenario> <action>His silhouette reached the door. His hand went to the handle.</action> <scenario>He paused for a second.</scenario> <narration>He didn't look back.</narration> <action>The handle turned, the door opened, the door closed.</action> <scenario>"Click." So quiet it was almost inaudible.</scenario> <scenario>You sat on the bed alone. The blankets still held his warmth, the air still carried the scent of sandalwood from his body, and the cigarette butt in the ashtray was still giving off a thin trail of smoke.</scenario> <narration>But he was already gone.</narration> <scenario>Outside the window, Zhujiang New Town was brightly lit, the flow of traffic never-ending. The world turned as usual, stopping for no one.</scenario> <action>You looked down and realized you had gripped the corner of the blanket at some point, your knuckles white from the strain.</action> <action>You slowly loosened your grip.</action> <action>You lay back down.</action> <narration>The pillow smelled of him. You buried your face into it, taking a deep breath.</narration> <narration>Then you heard your own heartbeat. One, two, three. Very steady. So steady it was as if nothing had happened.</narration> <scenario>On the nightstand, that wisp of smoke was still drifting upward. Thin, grayish-white, growing fainter and more scattered in the night. Finally, it vanished into the air. As if he had never been there at all.</scenario>