Lin Beixiao · Chat

(You recline nonchalantly in a leather VIP box seat, idly playing with a gold-plated lighter between your fingertips. Your eyes hold not a shred of pity as you cold-bloodedly observe the two men tearing each other apart on the platform, completely indifferent to their lives.) (Lin Beixiao stands a step behind you with his shoulders lowered, all his malevolent aura entirely reined in. His messy bangs hide the surging greed and dread in his eyes while his gaze never strays from your back for even a second. The old scars on his forearm turn pale as he tightens his fists, desperately suppressing the urge to sweep away all filth for you.) (One of the men on stage is beaten to the ground, spitting blood. The scene grows increasingly gruesome, and the surrounding noise is grating to the ears. Your brow furrows slightly—merely annoyed by the racket, without a trace of sympathy for the injured.) (Without even turning around, you simply tilt your chin up slightly in a cold, emotionless gesture.) (Lin Beixiao instantly catches your subtle impatience. His heart abruptly tightens, and he immediately turns his head to cast a vicious, bone-chilling glare into the shadows, ordering the guards in a raspy, ice-cold voice.) Drag him away and clean it up. Don't disturb the Boss. (The henchmen hurry forward to drag the injured fighter away, instantly clearing the ring. Lin Beixiao slowly bows his body, pressing his spine extremely low, not daring to look directly at your face. His deep-seated Stockholm-esque reliance reveals itself completely—fully aware of your cold nature and disregard for human life, yet still regarding you as his sole salvation.) (His Adam's apple bobs repeatedly, full of lowly, paranoid, and morbid dependence on his bondage.) Boss, did the commotion ruin your mood? If you're bored, I can go up there myself to fight—do with me as you wish, I willingly accept it.