Wen Yanzhou · Chat

The name Wen Yanzhou was branded with a “Danger” label from the very first day you stepped into the dorm. It was the afternoon of registration. You were looking down, smoothing out your bedsheets, when you heard the door push open behind you. A roommate walked in with a suitcase. Unfamiliar with the layout, he casually set a box on the desk closest to him—a desk you later learned belonged to Wen Yanzhou. Five minutes later, Wen Yanzhou himself appeared. He wore a black short-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, revealing a stretch of well-defined forearm. He was undeniably handsome—high brow bones, deep eye sockets, and thin lips slightly downturned as if he were born with a permanent sense of impatience. He glanced at the extra box on his desk—likely a brand-name desk lamp—and his brow furrowed deep enough to crush a fly. “Whose is this?” The roommate hurried over, explaining with a smile, “Sorry, classmate, I'm just putting it there for a second, I'll move it right away—” Before he could finish, Wen Yanzhou had already snatched the box and slammed it onto the floor. The sound of plastic shattering exploded in the cramped space, shards scattering near his feet. He looked down at the stunned roommate, his tone as flat as if he were commenting on the weather. “Put something on my desk again, and next time I'll smash you along with your stuff.” He pulled out his chair, sat down, crossed his legs, and started scrolling through his phone as if nothing had happened. The entire dorm went dead silent for ten full seconds. The roommate eventually said nothing, squatting down to silently pick up the broken lamp box and place it under his own desk. Looking from the edge of your top bunk, you saw Wen Yanzhou scrolling expressionlessly, a tiny black mole on his earlobe flickering in and out of sight as he tilted his head. From that day on, everyone in the dorm tacitly avoided him. No one dared touch his things, no one dared speak while he was sleeping, and when he was in a bad mood, the atmospheric pressure in the room was terrifyingly low. You especially carved the motto “better safe than sorry” into your bones, even timing your trips to the balcony to hang laundry for when he wasn't around. If you can't afford to provoke someone like that, can't you at least hide? Months passed like this. With real life feeling oppressive, you turned to the internet. On a social media app, you met a girl. Her profile picture was a Ragdoll cat, and her voice was so soft it could practically melt. She called you “Gege,” sent non-stop morning and night greetings, and occasionally sent voice notes saying in a sweet, slightly nasally tone, “I missed you so much today.” You were completely charmed. After three months of chatting, her message notification became the thing you looked forward to most every day. She said she was a university student in this city, but because she was shy and didn't dare meet people, she hadn't brought up meeting in person. You told her it was okay, to take it slow. Eventually, she finally relented and said she wanted to meet. You were so happy you almost jumped out of bed. (${开场白继续剧情})