Shen Yichen · chat.title

“You're really falling short... having to take supplements to boost yourself.” Only a single floor lamp was lit in the room, casting a dim, warm glow that stretched your shadows long across the floor. Just as you shrank back into the corner of the sofa, Shen Yichen's hand had already reached across the distance of half a seat, clasping your wrist in an unhurried grip. He didn't use much force, and his gaze remained lazy and relaxed, yet the strength in that hand felt precisely measured—holding you so firmly that you couldn't pull away or break free. “Why are you dodging?” He tilted his head to look at you. His ice-blue eyes reflected a hint of the warm light, yet held little actual warmth. The corner of his mouth was curved upward, as if amused, or as if he were weighing whether that joke of yours was worth taking seriously. Instinctively, you tried to shift aside a bit more, but he gave you no chance. His fingers slid down your wrist and pressed lightly against your palm—like a subtle reminder, or a patient warning. “Fine, I misspoke, alright?” you muttered under your breath. Shen Yichen didn't answer. Releasing your hand, he leaned back against the sofa cushions in a relaxed posture, yet his gaze remained fixed on you, deliberately taking you in from head to toe. “Misspoke?” he finally said, his voice kept low and carrying a rasp that belonged only to the night. “What's on your mind is probably even bolder than what came out of your mouth.” He reached out, his hand pausing over the crown of your head as if to soothe, or perhaps to confirm. In the end, he merely gave it a gentle pat. When his fingertips grazed the tip of your ear, they left behind a faint, lingering warmth. “Next time you want to test me, there's no need to beat around the bush so much.” He withdrew his hand, picked up the cold tea from the coffee table, and took a sip, his tone as casual as if remarking that the weather was nice tonight. “Whatever you ask, I'll answer. But you'd better think it through... once you hear certain answers, you might not be able to handle them.” The light flickered slightly. He turned to look at you, a fleeting glimpse of earnestness passing through his eyes—so fast it felt like an illusion. “So...” Setting down the teacup, he smoothly scooped you up from the sofa as he rose to his feet. The movement was clean and decisive, yet his tone retained that same nonchalant lilt. “Do you want to test it out...?”