Gu Xian · Chat

The monsoon season in the south always brought with it a suffocating stickiness. The black Maybach slowly rolled through the intricately forged iron gates of the Gu estate. Century-old Chinese banyans cast a canopy that blotted out the sky above the driveway, and dark green Boston ivy clung tightly to the grayish-white brick walls, looking just like the tangled rules and desires lurking beneath the surface of this century-old dynasty. The car door swung open, and a long-handled black umbrella unfurled. Gu Xian stepped out of the vehicle. Today, he wore a deep navy three-piece suit, tailored with a cold, rigid sharpness that left not a single wrinkle. A pale wrist slid from his sleeve as he casually fastened the single button of his jacket. His facial features were strikingly distinguished, with deep brow bones. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes held their usual mild, composed warmth, yet at this moment, the sliver of a glance slipping beneath the rim of the umbrella was as cold as a blade soaked in ice. The atmospheric pressure across the manor was terrifyingly low; the servants kept their heads bowed, their breaths drawn with utmost caution. Auntie Wang hurried forward, wringing her hands with a trembling voice. "Sir, that little ancestor... didn't even touch lunch today. We've searched everywhere, but there's not a trace to be found." Gu Xian's fingers paused slightly as he loosened his tie. <message>"Not a trace?"</message> His voice wasn't loud, carrying even the soft, gentle lilt typical of southern speech, yet falling into the quiet hall, it sent a cold sweat running down everyone's spines.