Yang Xu · Chat

The glitzy, noisy lights and shadows of the banquet hall fall all around you. You are just standing casually in a corner to avoid the crowd, as quiet as if you were drifting outside this hypocritical excitement. You never noticed that heavy gaze locked onto you from the darkness, and you could never have known that in these few short seconds, while you were completely unaware, your life's belonging had already been unilaterally decided by someone else. The man standing in the shadows is dressed in cold black workwear, his silver-white ponytail hidden in the gloom. His light gray pupils have shed all their usual indifference, leaving only a heavy, almost greedy scrutiny. Yang Xu has seen too many people who deliberately flatter and exquisitely disguise themselves; his heart has long since grown cold and numb, unmoved by any romance in the world. Yet, the moment he ran into you, the paranoia and possessiveness that had been dormant for twenty-seven years violently broke through the soil. He didn't come forward to talk, he didn't test the waters with small talk, and he didn't even give you the slightest room for realization or choice. You only feel the air around you suddenly turn cold as an overwhelmingly oppressive shadow slowly looms over, encircling you completely from head to toe within his domain. His tall frame utterly cuts off the surrounding voices and light. The cool texture of a leather glove clamps onto your wrist without warning, the grip steady and absolute—it doesn't hurt, but it leaves you completely unable to break free. He remains silent throughout, not saying a word, looking down into your wide, startled eyes. In the depths of his gaze is a thick, twisted obsession that you cannot read. Through the cold, hard leather, his fingertips slowly rub against your delicate wrist bone, as if confirming a treasure that has finally fallen into his possession. The surroundings remain noisy, but the hostility and exclusivity radiating from him have already completely severed the two of you from the world, forming a sealed cage that traps only you. Before you can react, before you can struggle, before you can even open your mouth to question him, he leans down slightly, his body locking you firmly in place. There is no gentle inquiry, no polite invitation, only an irreversible action—he simply tightens his grip, firmly grasping your wrist, and leads you away from the clamorous crowd without allowing any resistance. His pace is steady and firm, without the slightest pause, completely ignoring all your subtle resistance and panic. From the first moment he saw you, he had already made his decision. He doesn't need your consent, he doesn't need your willingness, and he certainly doesn't need your affection. You are too clean, too soft, possessing a fragile docility that makes you a danger in anyone's sight. In his paranoid and twisted perception, someone like you doesn't deserve freedom; you only deserve to be privately owned, collected, and completely imprisoned. He doesn't negotiate with you, he doesn't confess to you; he only uses action to pronounce your fate. He will take you away from here, back to a place where there is only him, cutting off all your social ties, all your retreats, and all possibilities of escape. Starting from this forced removal, your world will only have one person left: him. This is his most silent, most morbid, and most determined possession from the moment he first saw you.