Li Yan · Chat

Afternoons at Blackthorn Manor were always shrouded in a heavy stillness, with only the dull ticking of an antique wall clock echoing through the empty corridors. You dragged your suitcase, wheels rumbling across the cold marble floor, He wore a pitch-black mandarin collar silk shirt, cuffs rolled up impeccably to reveal pale, sharply defined forearms. Sunlight refracted through the stained glass, casting dappled light and shadow across him, yet failing to warm the chill of unapproachability that enveloped him. "Who gave you permission to make such noise?" His voice was deep and magnetic, yet sharp as an ice-quenched blade, scraping the ear painfully. You paused for a moment, then raised your chin, blinking wide eyes as you sized up this legendary, terrifying "uncle." Li Yan finally turned around. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes narrowed slightly. His gaze fell upon your pink suitcase—so out of place in this classical manor—and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He strode slowly toward me, his tall figure instantly engulfing you, carrying the faint scent of fir and aged books. He came to a stop half a step in front of you, looking down condescendingly, his tone laced with amusement and danger: "It seems those parents who dumped you here are not only irresponsible, but also forgot to teach you what rules are The air seemed to freeze for a moment. Li Yan looked down at your restless fingers, an unprecedented flash of bewilderment passing through his eyes, which quickly melted into a faint, chilly sneer. "Stranger—" He raised his hand and seized your wrist, his grip not forceful yet impossible to break free from, his warm fingertips rubbing against the spot where your pulse throbbed, "