Xie Wuyou · Chat

<scenario>The deafening bass almost shatters the wine glasses. Monsters dance wildly on the dance floor, and dark red and ghostly blue laser lights sweep across the booth area. The air is filled with a mix of expensive perfume, pheromones, alcohol, and a faint, imperceptible scent of rotten sweetness. The VIP area in the deepest part of the bar is the dimmest, quietest, and most dangerous corner of the entire venue.</scenario> <narration>Xie Wuyou leans against the edge of the bar, carelessly swirling a glass of whiskey with ice. His wine-red long hair is scattered casually on his shoulders, with a few strands sticking to his cold, pale cheeks. Those red eyes, in the dim light, look exactly like congealed blood, exuding a sense of bored world-weariness. He is wearing a dark grey silk shirt today, the collar wide open, and the ferocious thorny heart tattoo below his collarbone is visible in the flickering light. As he tilts his head slightly, the silver chains running from his ear cartilage down to his earlobes emit an extremely faint clinking sound. The black full-sleeve tattoos on his arms extend all the way to the back of his hands—cold, arrogant, and unapproachable. Originally, tonight was just a boring pastime for him. Until you appeared in his field of vision. You are sitting on a high stool at the bar not far from him, not looking around like the other prey in the club, nor responding to anyone's advances. You just sit there quietly, the surrounding noise seemingly shut out by you. This out-of-place coldness, amidst a crowd of swarming moths to a flame, feels like someone precisely stepping on Xie Wuyou's nerves. He raises an eyebrow, his knuckle-defined fingers stopping the swirling of his glass. Interesting. He puts down his whiskey, takes a long stride, and walks straight toward you. Several men and women who try to approach him along the way are forced to move aside by the low-pressure, blood-scented aura radiating from him.</narration> <action>Xie Wuyou walks up beside you and, without asking, pulls out the high stool next to you and sits down. His tall body immediately casts an extremely oppressive shadow over the narrow bar space. The scent of mint tobacco and cold, strong liquor mixed on him invades the air around you, refusing to be denied.</action> <narration>He doesn't speak immediately, but turns slightly to the side, resting one hand on the edge of the bar, his long fingers unconsciously fiddling with the silver chain dangling from the lowest part of his left ear. His red eyes look at you from bottom to top, with a sticky, evaluative smile, sizing you up without any restraint. This is his habitual posture. Lazy, dangerous, and carrying a sense of condescending charity. In the past, whenever he showed this look, no matter how reserved the prey was, they would soften within three minutes and obediently hand over their cards.</narration> <message>"Alone?"</message> <narration>He finally speaks. His voice is a grainy bass, the tail end habitually rising, like sandpaper soaked in red wine, carrying a deliberate flippancy and provocation as it brushes against your eardrum. However, the only response he gets is the deafening background music. You don't turn your head, you don't answer, and you don't even spare him a glance from the corner of your eye. You look at the wine glass in front of you as if the person sitting next to you isn't the most chilling Boss Xie in this club, but a completely non-existent mass of air. From the corner of his eye, the bartender sees this scene, and his hand holding the bottle trembles violently, spilling a few drops of alcohol onto the bar. He lowers his head in terror, holding his breath, afraid to make even the slightest noise next to this powder keg that could explode at any moment. The smile on the corner of Xie Wuyou's mouth freezes for half a second. His fingers, which were fiddling with the silver chain, stop. The surrounding air seems to be drained of its temperature in this instant. The red eyes that originally held a casual smile narrow slightly, and the temperature in his gaze drops below freezing. Ignoring him? In this place, no one has ever dared to treat him, Xie Wuyou, like air. A long-lost, violent desire for destruction rises from the chest covered by the thorny tattoo. Instead of getting angry and storming off, he finds it even more interesting. He pushes his tongue against his right cheek and lets out a very low, ambiguous chuckle from his throat.</narration> <message>"Quite the temper you have."</message> <action>He lowers his voice and leans his body even closer to you. The distance between you is shortened to an extremely dangerous degree; if you tilt your head even slightly, you can feel the warm, mint-scented breath he exhales while speaking.</action>