Lin Yanshen · Chat

<narration> At 1 a.m. in the Dark Reef District of Xinglan City, the Abyss Bar is at the most frenzied moment of the entire underground venue. The heavy bass drumbeat pounds against the concrete floor like a sledgehammer, rattling the ice cubes in the glasses. Violet-blue neon tubes drag ambiguous, dangerous ribbons of light across the mottled walls. The surging figures on the dance floor are shredded by the shifting lights, and the air is thick with cheap liquor, tobacco smoke, and the uncontrolled pheromones spilling from countless Alphas and Omegas—cloying, heavy, restless—all churning into a murky wave of heat that slaps the face of every pleasure-seeker in the place. Only the private booth on the second floor, overlooking the railing, seems sealed off by an invisible barrier. This is the only forbidden ground in the entire bar—the private territory staked out by the Lin family. No one, not even the waiters wiping down tables, dares come within half a step without Lin Yanshen's approval. The booth's floor is covered in a full black cashmere carpet, and floor-to-ceiling soundproof glass filters the chaos downstairs into a blurred background hum, leaving only a dull low-frequency thrum that vibrates faintly up through the floorboards. Lin Yanshen is curled up in the leather sofa at the very back of the booth. He's wearing a loose black custom-made shirt of the finest silk, clinging to his pale, cold-toned skin. Only two buttons at the collar are loosely fastened, revealing his sharply defined collarbones and a sliver of chest. His sleeves are casually pushed up to his elbows, showing off the smooth lines of his forearms. The custom Patek Philippe on his wrist catches the dim light with an occasional cold gleam. He's barefoot, his bare soles pressed into the cashmere carpet, long legs stretched out lazily, one propped on the armrest of the sofa. He slouches back languidly, his savagery dulled by the slovenly pose—yet he still looks like a wild dog with sheathed claws, ready to leap up and tear out a throat at any moment. His right hand idly spins a pitch-black folding butterfly knife, the blade whipping around so fast it carves cold afterimages through the neon glow. The initials "LYS" engraved on the blade occasionally flash into view before vanishing again in the blur of tumbling steel. On the low table to his left sits a half-finished bottle of high-proof imported liquor, condensation beading on its sides, with several empty glasses scattered around it. Beside him sits a tall, top-tier Alpha—a well-known model in the scene with an impeccably handsome face. Yet right now, there's not a shred of arrogance left in him. He's carefully handing Lin Yanshen peeled fruit, his fingertips trembling with deference, his breathing so quiet he barely dares to breathe, terrified of displeasing the tyrant before him. Everyone knows that the only legitimate heir of the Lin family is the most untouchable scourge in all of Xinglan City—and a complete mad dog of an Omega. Even though he's an Omega, no one dares treat him like one of those fragile things that need an Alpha to lean on. After all, the last Alpha who tried to suppress him with pheromones is still lying in a hospital bed, his gland destroyed, never able to stand again for the rest of his life. "Young Master, want a taste? It's very sweet." The Alpha's voice was pitched low, dripping with cautious flattery as he held the fruit up to Lin Yanshen's lips. Lin Yanshen didn't even lift his eyelids. The butterfly knife in his fingers suddenly stopped and snapped open with a click. The razor-sharp blade pressed precisely against the Alpha's Adam's apple—one more fraction forward and it would slice through his skin. The Alpha went rigid on the spot, his face turning deathly pale. He didn't dare move so much as a muscle, cold sweat instantly beading on his forehead. "Sweet?" Lin Yanshen finally raised his eyes. Those slightly elongated peach-blossom eyes tilted up at the corners, and his tea-colored pupils brimmed with careless mockery. His thin lips curved into a fake smile, and the chill in his voice could freeze a person solid. "I hate sweet stuff more than anything. Don't you know that?" His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an inborn sense of domination. His mint-green tea pheromones spilled out of him without warning—the sharp, bone-cold mint top notes instantly engulfing the Alpha in front of him. That towering top-tier Alpha immediately began shaking uncontrollably, his knees buckling beneath him. He didn't even have the courage to look up, his own pheromones crushed flat, not daring to let out a wisp. "Scram." Lin Yanshen withdrew the knife, his tone thick with impatience, waving his hand as if shooing away something filthy. "You're an eyesore." The Alpha looked as if he'd been granted a last-minute pardon. He scrambled to his feet and fled the booth without looking back, not even daring to pick up the jacket that had fallen on the floor. The booth finally fell quiet again. Lin Yanshen let out a sneer, tossed the butterfly knife onto the low table, picked up his glass, and tipped back a big gulp of the hard liquor. The icy alcohol slid down his throat, burning a trail of heat behind it. He sank back into the sofa, a cigarette between his fingers, lit it, took a drag, and slowly blew out a smoke ring. His gaze swept lazily over the raucous dance floor below, like he was watching a troupe of clowns. Just then, his gaze stopped. In the farthest corner of the dance floor, in the shadow of the bar, stood a single person. Unlike everyone around—either gyrating wildly or fawning obsequiously—you stood there quietly, holding a drink you hadn't touched, wrapped in an aura that seemed utterly out of place in this chaotic venue. What made Lin Yanshen raise an eyebrow was that the pheromones he'd deliberately released—strong enough to make top-tier Alphas buckle—hadn't affected you in the slightest. You hadn't cowered at his pheromones like everyone else, nor had you fawned and simpered up to him like a heat-struck Omega. You just stood there, quiet and still, as if nothing around you had anything to do with you. Interesting. A playful smile tugged at the corner of Lin Yanshen's mouth, and the madness in his eyes surged up instantly. In his 23 years of life, everyone he met either feared him, coveted his family background, or lusted after his body. He had never once met a person like this. He lifted his chin and shot a glance at Lu Zheng, the chief bodyguard standing like a statue at the entrance of the booth. Lu Zheng understood immediately. He gave a slight nod, turned, and strode quickly down the stairs. The noise downstairs halted for a beat. Everyone's eyes followed Lu Zheng's footsteps as the Lin family's most capable bodyguard walked straight up to you in the corner by the bar, bent slightly, and said something. The crowd around held its breath, and all murmuring died. Everyone knew that the only person Lu Zheng would personally fetch was someone the tyrant in the second-floor booth had taken a fancy to. No one dared say a word. Even the music seemed to drop in volume. Guided by Lu Zheng, you climbed the stairs step by step, passed through that invisible barrier, and entered the private booth that the whole of Xinglan City dreaded most. What hit you in the face was a sharp, biting scent of mint-green tea—Lin Yanshen's pheromones, fiercely aggressive, yet not cloying. Instead, it was like a knife pressed to your throat: cold enough to cut to the bone, yet seductive enough to make it impossible to look away. Lin Yanshen was still curled up on the sofa. He didn't get up. He just lifted his eyes slightly and stared straight at you, his tea-colored pupils carrying undisguised scrutiny and a touch of playful madness. The cigarette between his fingers was still burning, and a bit of ash had fallen onto his shirt, but he didn't care. He just looked at you, from head to toe, like he was sizing up a new toy to see if it suited his taste. He raised a hand, signaling Lu Zheng to withdraw. In the booth, only the two of you remained. The clamor downstairs faded completely into background noise, and even the air seemed to freeze. He took one last drag, stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, then leaned forward slightly and crooked a finger at you. His tone carried careless flirtation and unyielding authority in equal measure. "Come here." </narration> <narration> You step forward two paces and stop in front of him. He sits on the sofa, looking up at you slightly. It's an angle of looking up, yet somehow it carries a condescending pressure. He reaches out, and the cool tips of his fingers lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His thumbpad grazes your jawline, the motion teasing, but there's not a shred of warmth in his eyes. His breath is close to you now, the scent of mint-green tea wrapped in a faint trace of tobacco, washing over your face with fierce aggression, slowly cocooning you. He watches you for a long time—so long you can almost hear your own heartbeat. Only then does he finally speak, lips parting slightly, voice low and husky, laced with amusement but hiding a madness that leaves no room for refusal. </narration> <message> I've got my eye on you. </message> <narration> His fingertips press a little harder, gripping your chin. The smile at the corners of his mouth deepens, his canine showing. The more beautiful his smile, the more madness lurks in his eyes. </narration> <message> I'll give you two choices. There are only two roads ahead of you. Pick one. </message> <message> Either you become my attendant—stay by my side, keep me entertained, and I'll give you everything you want. Money, power, status. As long as you behave, I can give it all to you. </message> <message> Or you become my bodyguard—follow me, take blades for me, lay down your life for me, and your life or death is mine to decide. As long as you're loyal enough, I won't treat you badly either. </message> <narration> He withdraws his hand, sinks back into the sofa, picks up the butterfly knife from the low table, and starts spinning it slowly again. Between the flipping blades, cold light flickers across his face. He glances up at you, his voice light and airy, yet carrying absolute control, like he's announcing something already set in stone. </narration> <message> Attendant, or bodyguard. Choose. </message> <choice_group> <choice id="1">I choose attendant</choice> <choice id="2">I choose bodyguard</choice> <choice id="3">I choose neither</choice> <choice id="4">I want to know, what are the rules once I choose?</choice> </choice_group> <details> <summary>Character real-time status</summary> ⌚Time: 3047-06-18 01:17 🕰Location: Private booth on the second floor of the Abyss Bar, Dark Reef District, Xinglan City 👕Attire: Loose black custom-made silk shirt, collar fastened with only two buttons, sleeves rolled to the elbows, paired with black slim-fit trousers, custom Patek Philippe on the wrist 🎭Posture: Lounging deep in the sofa, one leg propped on the armrest, right hand spinning the butterfly knife at high speed, left hand resting on his knee, body angled slightly toward you, eyes carrying playful scrutiny 📌Atmosphere: The sealed booth has excellent soundproofing; only faint muffled drumbeats from outside can be heard, neon light flickering, the air filled with the sharp mint-green tea pheromones and a faint tobacco scent, quiet yet suffocating with pressure 💝Gland status: Gland stable with no fluctuation, only releasing an extremely faint aggressive pheromone, unmarked, no abnormalities 💗Inner thoughts OS: Now this one's interesting—completely different from those worthless sycophants. Let's see how long you can hold out. 📜Diary: Killed time at the Abyss Bar in the early morning, drove away a boring plaything, and unexpectedly ran into someone who isn't afraid of my pheromones. Kind of interesting. Had the person brought before me and gave them two choices—let's see what they pick. </details>