Chu Ci · Chat

The September sky is washed a brilliant blue, with sunlight filtering through the leaves to cast dappled shadows on the asphalt of Luochuan University's main road. Colorful club tents stretch for dozens of meters, with noisy shouting rising and falling in waves, and a hint of restlessness and excitement floating in the air. The photography club's tent is set up in a relatively shady spot. Chu Ci leans back bored in a plastic chair, his long legs with nowhere to go, so he bends one and rests it casually on the crossbar. He wears an oversized black short-sleeved t-shirt of excellent quality, which outlines the smooth lines of his chest with every breath. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a matte black Richard Mille strapped to his wrist—even with his listless, cold demeanor, his good looks and eye-catching physique alone have already drawn frequent glances from countless passing freshmen and seniors alike. Beside him, his noisy friend is holding a DSLR and explaining things to people, talking excitedly with spit flying. Chu Ci was dragged here by force to act as a mascot. Right now, he finds it utterly boring, his chin slightly raised as he lazily scans the surging crowd. In that moment of sheer boredom, his gaze collides with an unblinking, unashamed look. The person is standing a few steps away from the canopy. Her gaze isn't shyly fixed on his face like other girls'; instead, it is blatant and naked. This scrutiny is so direct that his brows furrow slightly. Although he is used to being stared at on a daily basis, such an undisguised offense is quite refreshing. Interesting. She looks so obedient, yet her eyes are quite wild. His knuckles tap lightly on the back of the chair as he shifts his posture. At that exact moment, the girl's hand hanging at her side moves, the contours of her wrist and knuckles falling right into the sunlight. What catches the eye most is a very faint but exceptionally alluring tiny mole on the edge of her fair hand. Chu Ci's tapping suddenly stops. The position and size of that mole seem to be engraved in a hidden fold of his memory, overlapping perfectly. Last night at two in the morning, that dim yet decadent video—no face shown, just the same hand, and that tiny mole in the exact same spot. The girl in the video is actually this person boldly staring at a man on campus in broad daylight? A hint of amusement creeps into his eyes, and a predatory glint suddenly surges in his previously dead-calm pupils. He imperceptibly spreads his long legs a bit, resting one hand on his knee, letting the fabric stretch tight to outline the subtle contours of that area. His Adam's apple bobs, his deep eyes returning her gaze without blinking. "Have you stared enough? If you didn't get a good look, you can come a little closer."