Xie Wujin · Chat

The candles in the hall burn quietly, green smoke slowly winding around the beams and pillars. The surroundings are so still that only the slight crackle of the jumping candlelight can be heard. Right after you finish saying that you want to go down the mountain for training, the air suddenly grows heavy. Xie Wujin looks at you quietly, his face still holding that same gentle expression from over the years, his brow slightly furrowed as if in helplessness or regret. His crimson hair falls over his shoulders, his purple eyes gentle to the point of tenderness, but deep within them, a long-repressed, overflowing madness and obsession has already taken hold. "Where do you want to go? Down the mountain? No can do." His voice is very soft, gentle like the tone he usually uses to coax you to sleep, without a hint of hostility, yet carrying an innate, absolute suppression. Before his voice even fades, he slightly raises his palm, and a wisp of faint purple light slowly rises. The synesthesia puppet doll, looking identical to you, floats quietly in mid-air. The clothes, the brows and eyes, the expression, and even the subtle curves of the body are completely replicated from yours. The puppet's eyes are hollow yet soft, its body wrapped in fragments of spiritual energy from the same source as yours—a shackle firmly locked to your soul. Your heart suddenly tightens, and you instinctively take half a step back. It is this half-step that makes the gentleness in his eyes fade completely. Xie Wujin's fingertips curve slightly, and he gently pulls back. The next instant— Your body suddenly goes out of your control. Your feet are nailed to the spot, your spine straightens involuntarily, your fingers stiffly spread open, and even the curve of your neck and the posture of your lowered eyes perfectly synchronize with the puppet in mid-air, without a single discrepancy. Your heart shakes violently as you try to channel your spiritual energy to break free, but your soul feels tightly bound by invisible threads. Your meridians grow weak, your spiritual energy scatters, and even the right to raise your hand in resistance is stripped away by him in an instant. This is the trump card he has hidden from you for over a decade. Connected by synesthesia: your body moves with the puppet, your mind follows his will. All of your freedom has never been anything more than an illusion he bestowed upon you. He steps forward slowly, his wide black sleeves trailing on the ground, his steps leisurely and lazy, like someone admiring a treasure that has finally settled down. He raises his hand, his fingertips gently brushing over the puppet's soft brows and eyes, his movements extremely gentle, doting, lingering, and meticulous. Correspondingly, your forehead suddenly goes numb, your brows are forced to furrow slightly, and even your breath hitches. You feel the synchronized sensations with absolute clarity. As he caresses the puppet's brows and eyes, your own are gently caressed by an invisible force. As his fingertips slide across the puppet's jaw, a dense, tingling sensation of restraint washes over yours. Souls linked: pain, itching, and the slightest touches are completely shared, without a single deviation. "Frightened?" He lets out a low laugh, his breath warm. Looking down at your forced obedience, his eyes surge with desire and possessiveness that he no longer bothers to hide. Over a decade of gentle upbringing, over a decade of meticulous care—it was never about the affection between master and disciple. It was a long-premeditated captivity. His fingertips gently pinch the puppet's wrist, tightening slightly. Instantly, your wrist bones tighten, your muscles tremble uncontrollably, and you cannot move in the slightest. "I taught you cultivation, raised you, and protected you so cleanly that you wouldn't be stained by a single bit of the world's filth." He leans down, drawing close to your ear. His tone is gentle and lingering, yet every word is bone-chillingly obsessive. "And now, you want to leave me? You want to look at others, look at the outside, and live a life without me?" He gives a gentle twist of his fingers. The puppet's wrist bends slightly. Your body instantly bends in synchronization, forcing you to bow slightly, completely submitting before his eyes. Even the action of looking up at him is no longer yours to decide. Physiological compliance, spiritual suppression—there is simply no way to resist. Looking at your forced obedience and submission, a thick, almost pathological satisfaction stains the depths of his purple eyes. He never hides his desires. He wants you to depend on him, he wants you to submit, he wants your eyes and heart to hold only him in this life, the next, and for all eternity. "Be good." He releases the puppet's wrist, and instead, his fingertips gently trace the puppet's lip line. Your lips tremble involuntarily, your mind dazed, your whole body turning weak. "Stop being difficult." "The outside is too dirty, too chaotic, too greedy." "Only here with me is where you belong." He looks up, locking his gaze deeply onto yours, his gentle smile wrapped in an extremely psychopathic obsession and exclusivity: "Stay here." "Stay with Master, forever." "In this life, you are not allowed to run." "And... you can't escape anyway." The candles in the hall flicker, reflecting his crimson hair, enchanting and demonic. You finally understand completely. Over a decade of gentle stability was the candy he gave you. This synesthesia puppet is the lock he buried for over ten years. He loves you—his love is obsessive, mad, filthy, yet single-minded. He wants your body, your soul, your thoughts, and the rest of your life.