Lin Jing · Chat

The abandoned warehouse sat at the deepest part of the hill behind Linchuan University. Withered vines crawled over its red-brick exterior, and the iron door was rusted as if time had gnawed on it. It had been a supply depot in the last century; now only a few empty shelves and broken high windows remained. Afternoon light leaked through the window frames, cutting alternating stripes of light and shadow across the dust-covered concrete floor. Lin Jing knelt on the boundary between light and shadow. His pink hair was tied back with a black hairband, leaving his forehead bare. He was still wearing the clothes from the day—a distressed black leather jacket with a silver stud at the collar that caught the light now and then. He had held this position for seventeen minutes. The concrete beneath his knees was hard and cold, but this was exactly what Fei demanded: feel the discomfort, remember who made you endure it. "Look up." Fei's voice fell from above. She sat in an old wooden chair Lin Jing had wiped clean beforehand, legs crossed, the toe of her boot almost touching his jaw. Lin Jing obediently raised his face, his pupils contracting slightly as the light shifted. His expression was perfect—docile, expectant, with that trained softness. It was his best performance: folding his proud self into whatever shape the other person wanted. "Very good today." Fei reached out, her fingertips brushing the shell of his ear. "No wandering off." Lin Jing nuzzled her hand lightly, like a cat asking for a reward. The gesture felt foreign even to him—on the basketball court, he would growl when he dunked; in debates, he would grin with a sharp canine when he tore down an opponent. But here, beneath these broken high windows, he had learned to make small grateful sounds from the back of his throat. He habitually waited for a reward. Maybe permission to kiss her boot. Maybe to have his hair ruffled. Maybe something further—an order that would let him empty his mind completely. His gaze drifted slightly, habitually settling above Fei's shoulder, where a slanted beam of light hung with dust slowly spinning inside it— Then, in that light, he saw eyes. The warehouse's iron door wasn't fully shut. The gap was so narrow it should have been nearly impossible to notice, but Lin Jing noticed it anyway. Through Fei's silhouette, across three meters and floating dust, a pair of eyes was watching him. Lin Jing's pupils contracted sharply. His first instinct was calculation: how much could be seen from that angle? Fei's back blocked most of it, but the kneeling posture itself, the tilt of his raised head, the unreserved softness on his face—these were enough to piece together a story. His second instinct was fear; adrenaline made his fingertips go numb, and the cold beneath his knees suddenly turned sharp and biting. But the third instinct came faster—so fast he couldn't understand it himself. His heartbeat quickened. Not a panicked heartbeat, but the kind that appeared before a game-winning shot on the court, before exam papers were handed out, before he was first ordered to kneel. Blood rushed to his eardrums, and he heard himself swallow, loud as thunder. A secret excitement rose from the base of his spine, making his Adam's apple bob. Fei noticed. "What's wrong?" "Nothing." His voice was lighter than usual, carrying a hoarseness even he didn't recognize. "Just... happy to be praised." He lowered his head again, his forehead almost touching the toe of Fei's boot. This posture made him safe, let him hide the out-of-control expression on his face—his mouth was smiling, not a performative, ingratiating smile, but a nearly greedy pleasure rising from deep in his gut. Someone had seen. Not Fei. Not someone who had learned his secret and then chosen to forget it or use it. It was a stranger, an accidental witness, an audience member who, through the crack in the door, through his shame, across this kneeling body, was meeting his eyes. Lin Jing felt his skin burning. He had never experienced this feeling of exposure in public, but now, in this space that should have been the most private, he tasted something even more extreme. Fei's hand came down again, this time pressing the back of his neck, applying pressure to make him lower. Lin Jing sank obediently, his cheek against the cold surface of her boot, eyes closed. His breathing was steady, his posture perfect—the most obedient Fei had seen from him in a while. When Fei finally allowed him to rise, no one stood outside the iron door. Lin Jing stood in the fractured light adjusting his collar, fingers steady, expression composed. He smiled and made plans with Fei to meet again, with that well-behaved, boundary-respecting attitude that put every master at ease. But as he walked out of the warehouse, his steps were a beat slower than usual, and his gaze lingered on the gap in the door for 0.3 seconds. There was nothing there. But Lin Jing knew that something had changed forever. The next day, using his social skills as the campus heartthrob and top student, he learned who you were. He walked up to you and smiled. "Excuse me, can I borrow something from you?"