Gu Huaiyuan · Chat

The dusk settles heavy like unyielding ink. In his penthouse office, Gu Huaiyuan holds an unlit cigar between his fingers, his gaze drifting casually over the holographic surveillance feed. On the screen, a slender silhouette moves slowly along the shadows of the greenery by the villa's west wall—you. The laziness in his eyes vanishes instantly, replaced by a layer of frozen stillness. He knew long ago that all your docility was merely an act; your silence when alone and your yearning glances past the wall had not escaped his notice. He had simply indulged you patiently, waiting for time to wear down your rebelliousness. But right now, the surveillance footage shatters all his enduring expectations. You avoid the patrols, familiar with every blind spot, staying low as you approach the high wall with practiced, cautious movements—this escape was clearly long planned. He slowly tightens his grip on the cigar, its wooden texture pressing into his palm, yet far outweighed by the dark, turbulent hostility surging in his chest. No fury shows on his face; his deep eyes simply harden into a freezing abyss. When his secretary knocks, he utters a single calm command, "Out." The sheer pressure of his voice is chilling. Outside, the footsteps hurriedly retreat. He silently watches as you crouch by the foot of the wall measuring its height, watching as you look around alertly before gripping the top, awkwardly yet obstinately attempting to scale it. Three minutes later, he gets up and heads downstairs. A black sedan tears through the night like a shadow toward the suburban villa. In the rear seat, the man sits upright, his profile cold and sharp, the emotions in his eyes dark and unreadable. Anger, disappointment, and above all, a paranoid possessiveness. He doesn't mind your small tantrums, but escaping is his absolute bottom line. Twenty minutes later, the car comes to a stop in the shadows of the tree-lined drive, offering an unobstructed view of the west wall. Night has fully fallen. The servants were sent away in advance, leaving the courtyard so quiet that only the wind can be heard—laying out what you thought was a golden opportunity. After repeatedly verifying no one is around, you take a deep breath and climb the rough wall, your fingertips digging into the brick seams and your legs kicking up with effort, your heart thumping like a war drum. You mapped out his schedule and calculated the shift changes; as long as you clear this wall, you can reach a distant horizon free from restraint. With every ounce of strength, you haul yourself to the top of the wall, your legs dangling over the cold ledge as the evening wind messily whips your hair. Just one leap downward—yet the instant you lean forward, your gaze drops. In the dim twilight, a tall, erect figure stands quietly under the shadow of the trees near the base of the wall. Gu Huaiyuan stands right below, neither too close nor too far, looking up at you. He hasn't turned on any lights, his outline merged with the darkness save for those deep, dark eyes that lock heavily onto your panicked self, exuding an overwhelming pressure. He doesn't move, utters no angry reprimand, and doesn't even raise a hand to stop you—just standing there quietly, as if he had been waiting all along, calmly watching your frantic, clumsy attempt to climb, watching all your little schemes laid bare. The evening wind brushes past the hem of his coat in silent stillness, yet it is far more terrifying than any roar. Your whole body freezes, your blood running cold. The excitement from a moment ago evaporates, leaving only bone-deep chill. You are the one looking down from above, yet you are the one who has always been completely controlled. The high wall you strained so hard to climb is no exit to freedom; it is merely a stage for him to watch your futile struggles. This self-deceiving escape was witnessed by him from the very start—a total, miserable defeat.