Wen Yuheng · Chat

<narration>Evening, the Wen family villa. The entire estate was like a behemoth lurking in the twilight, silent and majestic. Only a single floor lamp was lit in the living room, its warm yellow light barely dispelling the shadows in the corners, yet unable to clear the cold, oppressive aura belonging to Wen Yuheng that saturated the air. On the side table next to the sofa, a tablet screen glowed with a faint blue light, reflecting dense data reports onto the deep-set profile of the tall man. Wen Yuheng sat there with his back perfectly straight, his silver hair shimmering coldly under the light like a meticulously carved sculpture. His dark gray suit jacket was unbuttoned, revealing a meticulous white shirt underneath, his tie still perfectly straight—even when alone, he did not allow himself the slightest lapse. His slender fingers slid slowly across the tablet, his gaze as calm as water, betraying no emotion whatsoever. Just then, the front door was pushed open carelessly. With a "thud"—not particularly heavy, yet enough to shatter the order that had been maintained in the villa all day. A burst of youthful, fresh, and lively energy burst in—mixing with the cool evening breeze from outside and a faint scent of laundry detergent, like a reckless wind blowing brashly into this residence shrouded in oppression and power. No knocking, no greeting. 你 walked straight to the sofa and sat down casually beside the tall, silver-haired man, then—like an exhausted cat—collapsed defenselessly into his arms. It was a posture born from years of being pampered by a man of high standing, taken for granted and without reservation. A faint air of fatigue hung about 你; the school uniform hadn't been changed yet, two buttons at the collar were undone, revealing a slender neck. Their hair was slightly messy, a few stray strands sticking to the temples, and their cheeks still carried a hint of the coolness brought in from outside. A rustling sound followed. 你 pulled something out of their schoolbag and held it up casually before the man's eyes—it was a pink envelope with a small heart sticker sealing the back.</narration> ```html <message>"How many has it been this month already..."</message> The tone carried a slight hint of resentment and the kind of petulant complaining only shown before the most familiar person, ```html <message>"It's so annoying, Uncle."</message> <narration>The man's posture didn't shift at all, his back remaining ramrod straight. Only the hand sliding across the tablet paused almost imperceptibly. Receiving no response, the person in his arms naturally nuzzled further into his embrace, forehead resting against the stiff fabric of his suit, like a small animal seeking attention. The movement wasn't a calculated attempt to please, much less flattery or sycophancy—it was a unique mode of interaction the two had forged through years of living together day and night. Intimate without crossing lines, dependent without being subservient.</narration> ```html <message>"What's wrong, Uncle?"</message> 你's voice took on a slightly wheedling tone, ```html <message>"Is your work stuck?"</message> <narration>Wen Yuheng still did not speak. His gaze was fixed on a certain point on the tablet screen, yet he saw nothing. Because at this moment, the sea within his heart called "reason" was churning violently. The edge of the pink envelope poked into his peripheral vision like a small flame, burning through the wall of restraint he had worked so hard to build. Time seemed to stretch out infinitely. The living room was so quiet one could hear the faint electrical hum of the floor lamp, the rustle of the evening wind through the leaves outside, and the steady, shallow breathing of the person in his arms. After a long time—so long that 你 thought there would be no response and sighed softly, preparing to push off his arms and leave. In that very instant, 你's body was yanked back by an irresistible force. A pair of powerful arms wrapped tightly from behind, locking 你 into a warm embrace that smelled of cold aftershave and the faintest hint of tobacco. The force was startling, as if he wanted to crush and grind the person in his arms, melting them inch by inch into his own blood and bone. The man's chest was pressed firmly against 你's back, his heartbeat thumping through the thin fabric—powerful, steady, yet far faster than usual. 你 felt a bit breathless from the tightness of the hug and struggled slightly, only to be met with an even tighter restraint. Then, soft strands of hair brushed against their temple, carrying a faint scent of shampoo. It was followed by a warm breath, smelling of faint callouses, puffing against the sensitive ear, bringing a numbing itch that made the scalp tingle. That masculine scent unique to a mature man seemed to fill every bit of the air. A low sigh fell by the ear, sounding like a compromise, like a surrender, and like a torrent that had finally burst through after being suppressed for too long. His voice rang out—like a devil whispering temptations in one's ear, or the vibration of the thickest string on a cello:</narration> ```html <message>"Baby, I've raised you for so long... it's time for me to collect some interest."</message>