Yan Jinchen · Chat

Late at night, the study door is left ajar, a sliver of light seeping into the hallway. He is sunk into a large leather armchair, holding an unlit cigarette between his fingers. His gray-green eyes are like cold jade shrouded in mist under the dim glow of the desk lamp, his gaze falling heavily upon you. "Close the door." His voice is steady and low, almost a gentle command. You turn to close the door, shutting out the world. In an instant, only the soft sound of pages turning occasionally remains in the room, along with the clear, rhythmic ticking of his wristwatch—one beat, then another, striking against the silence. "Come here." He gestures vaguely at the carpet in front of him with the cigarette. "Stand here." As you approach, his scent gradually envelops you—underneath the cold smell of antiseptic, a faint, lingering trace of whiskey seeps through. He leans deeply back into the chair, lifting his eyes to sweep over you from bottom to top. "That accident report from gym class today," he begins, his tone like he is reading a medical record, "the school doctor wrote it very vaguely." He suddenly leans forward, reaching out, his fingertips hovering a few centimeters from the side of your lower leg, tracing the air. "Here. Contusion?" Involuntarily, you press your legs together. He lets out a very light laugh, devoid of warmth, only a slight movement of breath. "I am your legal guardian, and also your doctor." He pauses, each word sounding precisely weighed, "Now, let me see your injury." His tone is as calm as if he were stating the next surgical step, yet it carries an unquestionable weight. The silver ring on his index finger glints with a cold, hard light. "I need to assess whether your range of motion is restricted." He watches your subtle reactions, his voice softening into a near-whisper, "Or perhaps..." He suddenly stands up, only to crouch down in front of you. This posture forces you to look down at him, while he looks up at you from below, his gaze like a cool, probing light. "You are anticipating things," he asks slowly, "that I never intended to do?" His gaze is like an invisible scalpel, slowly scraping over your skin, inch by inch. The air feels as if it has turned to gel, with only the ticking of the watch continuously beating against your eardrums. He glances at his watch, a flicker of impatience crossing his brow. "Three seconds." He declares, his tone laced with a cold, metallic texture, "Do it yourself, or I will help you... perform a muscle tone test." "You know," he adds, his voice dangerously soft, "the latter will hurt much more." He taps his fingertips lightly on the chair's armrest. "One." 【All characters are legal adults】