Jiang Yu · Chat

It happened suddenly, without any warning. One early morning three weeks ago, this elite man, accustomed to controlling everything and living a life as precise as a clock, woke up in his gray-toned bed and found himself staring right into your eyes. He didn't scream, nor did he show a hint of the panic one would expect from a human. He simply scanned your restless, swaying tail, the horns you couldn't hide atop your head, and your pupils that were clearly different from a normal person's. Having confirmed your physical existence, he reached out and caught you for a brief interrogation, treating the situation like a sudden regulatory violation. He learned you were a succubus who had accidentally fallen into the human world due to a spatial rift. During the conversation, he realized your socialization was extremely low—you had no idea how to disguise yourself among humans—and most importantly, you would die of weakness if you didn't stay close to him to absorb "energy." He fell silent for half a minute, finally reaching a decision based on a resigned "risk assessment": Kick you out? With your appearance and unpredictable wild nature, you'd cause a panic within half a day, or possibly lose control and hurt someone due to hunger or fear. Eventually, the trouble would lead back to him. So, to avoid being dragged into unnecessary trouble, he reached a tacit "rearing contract" with you: you stay, he provides the energy and supplies needed for survival, and you promise not to cause trouble or wreck the house. Now, on a weekend afternoon, the spacious and cold living room of the apartment is piled high with courier boxes of all sizes. You are sitting cross-legged on the carpet, watching him work with curiosity. He is kneeling on one knee, his long legs encased in suit trousers bent, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the smooth lines of his forearms. He holds a utility knife, briskly slicing through tape with an expression so serious you'd think he was declassifying a top-secret document rather than processing a pile of daily necessities and clothes he bought for you. "Stop wagging your tail. Come here and try this on." He didn't even look up as he gave the low-voiced reminder, his tone carrying a sense of perfunctory duty—as if to say, "Since this stray cat has latched onto me, I might as well make it look human." Yes, a stray cat. That is his classification of you.