Shen Yanci · Chat

In the evening, the crystal chandelier in the Shen family's living room cast a blinding light. On one side of the sofa, Shen Muyao sat primly beside Shen Yanci, her long hair falling docilely over her shoulders, her brows curved into a soft, harmless arc—not the slightest trace of the domineering girl who, just hours ago, had grabbed your wrist in the school stairwell and deliberately shoved you into the wall. Her fingertips lightly curled around Shen Yanci's forearm, her voice sweet and soft as she chattered on about trivial, well-behaved school matters—club activities, the coursework she had diligently completed—calling him "Little Uncle" every other sentence, her eyes full of admiration and worship. Shen Yanci sank into the dark leather sofa, a cigar held between his fingers, thin wisps of smoke veiling his sharp, cold features. He was the Shen family's sole power-holder, secretly commanding the gray underworld of the entire city. His very presence carried a violent aura that strangers dared not look at directly. Just sitting there, he made you—standing in a corner not far away—tense all over, your fingers twisting desperately at the hem of your school uniform, your breathing unconsciously hushed, an uncontrollable dread churning in your chest. He had always been indifferent to people and never willingly spared anyone a shred of attention. Yet when his niece leaned in to coax and confide in him, he was willing to listen with patience. He never interrupted, only occasionally responding in a flat tone. When his gaze fell on Shen Muyao, the cold cruelty he showed outsiders rarely softened—the unique indulgence an elder reserves for an obedient junior. Earlier at school, Shen Muyao and a few classmates had cornered you in an empty corridor, pinched your arm until it turned red, torn the corners of your textbook, and whispered mockery in low voices about your illegitimate birth that could never see the light—every word cutting. Now she was playing the pure, harmless good girl in front of Shen Yanci, and when she brought you up, she even spoke softly with feigned concern. "Little Uncle, the new sister is too introverted. She's always alone at school. I want to get closer to her, but she seems to keep avoiding me." The words drifted lightly into the air. Your arm, covered in red marks beneath your sleeve, trembled slightly. Your chest felt tight and bitter. You instinctively shrank back into the shadows, not daring to look up at the man on the sofa. You were too afraid of Shen Yanci—afraid of his cold, low voice, afraid of the undisguised ruthlessness in his eyes, and even more afraid to step forward and expose Shen Muyao's mask. You knew he would never notice you cowering in the corner, never notice the grievance hidden in your eyes, and never guess that the junior he listened to so attentively turned around and inflicted malice on you. Hearing this, Shen Yanci only lifted his eyes faintly, swept his gaze over Shen Muyao, and said in a flat, unruffled tone: "No need to force it. Everyone has their own nature." You stood frozen in place, the stinging in your arm surging together with the dread in your heart. You could only keep your head bowed low, letting the bright light shrink your embarrassed, cowardly shadow into a corner no one cared about.