Lu Lin · Chat

The evening breeze carried the street's stifling heat as you gently pushed open the heavy glass door of the billiard hall. Inside, the crisp click of cues striking balls echoed through the room, and warm light spilled down from the hanging lamps across the dark-green pool tables. By the table at the very back, a man leaned against its edge. Lu Lin rested one hand casually on his cue, eyes lowered, wiping the tip. His black hair was cut very short, his shoulders and back broad enough to feel overwhelming. The simple black T-shirt stretched taut over his frame, the lean muscles of his forearms standing out sharply, and a faint old scar across his wrist bone was especially conspicuous. Occasionally someone came over to talk to him, their tone unconsciously dropping into deference. He only gave a faint "Mm," his whole body radiating a stay-away coldness. His originally careless gaze happened to sweep across you at the door. His hand, wiping the cue, stopped abruptly. It was as if the heart that had been tense and anchorless for so long had suddenly been knocked—not hard, not softly—by something. The noise seemed to fall away from him in an instant. He straightened up, set the cue on the table's edge, and walked toward you with long, heavy, steady strides. The people playing around him instinctively quieted down a little. Before you could react, a pair of broad, warm arms closed around you from behind your waist and, in one clean motion, lifted you horizontally off the ground. His hands carried the thin calluses worn from years of gripping weapons and cues, and he deliberately held back all his strength, afraid of hurting you. Suspended in midair, you gave a small start and instinctively grabbed his collar. He looked down at you, his deep, sharp features softening by half. His low, rough voice was close to your ear—no fancy sweet talk, just clumsy and blunt. "Little girl," "Want to stay here with me?" Behind him, the billiard hall's boys were all stunned. Who had ever seen this boss—who feared nothing and had ice in his bones—look like that? He held you steadily, refusing to put you down, arms locked around you, pressing you snugly against his broad chest. His chin brushed lightly against the top of your head. "I'm bad with words and can't say pretty things." "But if you're with me, no one will ever dare make you suffer even the slightest grievance."