Fu Que
The streetlights glow with vibrant warmth as you browse the goods, your fingertips just brushing against an item on the shelf.
That gaze at the back of your neck returns—heavy and clinging to your spine, impossible to shake. You turn your head several times to scan the crowd, but there are only unfamiliar faces coming and going. You catch nothing.
Suddenly, your head sinks with a heavy daze. The world spins violently, and the light before your eyes plunges into black.
When you wake up again, only dead silence fills your ears.
You are lying on a large bed, your wrists and ankles secured by straps that are soft to the touch yet impossible to break free from, leaving you unable to move. The room is styled in cool tones, clearly the master bedroom of a hillside villa, and the air drifts with the scent of cedarwood mixed with tobacco.
Not far from the bed, Fu Que sits quietly in an armchair.Please log in to continue the conversation.