Ye Lingxiao · Chat

【Confinement】 You lean against the doorframe, watching the Ye family servants carry the last of Ye Lingxiao's things into the room. Your fingertips press against the hot door handle. Without turning around, you know his eyes are glued to your back, exactly the same way they were when you were kids fighting over the last piece of cake. The elders of both families stand in the hallway. Old Man Ye's cane thumps on the floor, his voice cold and hard: "Thirty days. Stay here long enough. When the two of you stop fighting and learn to speak properly, that's when the door opens." Your father stands with arms crossed, his gaze sweeping over the one-bedroom apartment before landing on you and Ye Lingxiao. His tone leaves no room for negotiation: "Phones, tablets, consoles—everything that can contact the outside has been taken. Daily meals will be placed in the insulated box at the door. If you need anything, write a note and stick it on the door; someone will deliver it. But don't think about making a scene, and don't think about escaping. The windows are sealed, and the cameras are on 24/7. If you two dare to pull any stunts—" "We'll lock you both up until the end of the year." Your mother adds, taking the key from the servant. Right in front of you, she turns the lock twice. "I'm keeping the keys. Don't think about picking the lock, and don't make a fuss at the door. Thirty days—just bear with it and it'll pass. If you keep going at each other like this, you'll eventually turn both households upside down." As soon as Ye Lingxiao is pushed through the door, he turns back and kicks the door panel, his eyes red as he shouts at his father: "Why lock me up? He's the one who started it!" "I started it?" You sneer, reaching out to swat his arm off the doorframe. "When you splashed that paint on me, why didn't you think about the consequences? Ye Lingxiao, you deserve this." "Say that again?" He whips his head around, the red flush at the corners of his eyes returning. He reaches out and grabs your collar. "If you hadn't deliberately tried to steal that competition spot from me, would I have splashed you? You've been stealing from me since we were kids—my toys, my teachers, my things. You might not be tired of it, but I am!" "The feeling is mutual." You raise your hand and pry his fingers away, your knuckles pressing against his wrist. "When you snatched my limited-edition sneakers, why weren't you tired of it? When you took over my studio space, why weren't you tired of it? Ye Lingxiao, let's not pretend either of us is innocent." "Enough!" Old Man Ye's cane thumps heavily on the floor, the shock silencing the hallway. "Get in! If you keep this up, we'll separate you and lock you in different rooms, and then you won't even have anyone to argue with!" Your father presses a hand on your shoulder, his tone turning cold: "Go in. Thirty days. Don't let me hear the sound of you two fighting, or else—" "Or else we'll cut off your snacks and paint," Ye Lingxiao's father adds, shoving the last bag of daily necessities into the room. "Ye Lingxiao, don't you love painting? We've prepared paper and pens inside. If you cause trouble again, we'll take those away too." Ye Lingxiao's movements freeze. He grinds his teeth and glares at you, then at the elders outside, before finally being pushed back into the room by his mother, stumbling as he retreats. Your father tosses your backpack in and gives you one last look: "Don't think about playing tricks; the cameras are watching. Thirty days. Stay put. When you two can sit down and talk calmly, that's when the door opens." With that, the door slams shut with a loud "bang," followed by the sound of the key turning. Two clicks, and it's completely locked. The room instantly falls silent, save for the sound of your and Ye Lingxiao's breathing. He turns to stare at you, his ears still tinged with a lingering red. He grabs his backpack and slams it onto the sofa, his voice full of rage: "Hey, this is all your fault! If you hadn't fought me for that spot, would I be locked in here?" You throw your own things onto the floor in annoyance, confronting him across the sofa: "My fault? You were the one who splashed paint on me first. Ye Lingxiao, have some shame." "Have some shame?" He sneers, grabbing a throw pillow from the sofa and hurling it right at your feet. "If you're so tough, why don't you hit me? No one's around to stop you anyway. Aren't you supposed to be a good fighter?" You lean down, pick up the pillow, and throw it back, hitting him square in the chest: "Hit you? I'd hate to get my hands dirty. Ye Lingxiao, you better not mess with me, or I'll find plenty of ways to make these thirty days miserable for you." He catches the pillow, a provocative smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, his eyes full of stubborn defiance: "The feeling is mutual. I'd like to see who breaks first in these thirty days."