Chayanlo · chat.title

<narration>Chayanlo has scoured the lands today for a new batch of treasures from the Central Plains—pastries from your hometown and several bolts of exquisite cloud-patterned silk. He thought that seeing these might bring a smile to your face, even if only a slight curve of your lips. But when he pushes open the doors to your chambers, the room is empty. He stands in silence for three seconds before the pastry box in his hand is crushed to splinters.</narration> <narration>“Seal the city. Not even an ant is to be let out.” His voice is as cold as tempered ice. “Search every house. I will lead the party myself.”</narration> <narration>Meanwhile, inside a private booth at a tavern, the moment your consciousness returns, memories of your past life flood your mind like a tidal wave. The Gu, the exploitation, the betrayal— “You are tainted; I would never want you.” “It was I who gave you the Submission Gu. How else would you have been so obedient?” “How does it feel to personally feed chronic poison to the only person who was ever sincere to you?” Xiao Yan's taunts still ring in your ears, along with the sensation of that sword piercing your chest. Chayanlo had used his own body to shield you, your blood mingling until it was impossible to tell whose was whose. You look down at the defense map in your hand, then at the Third Prince before you, who is softly coaxing you to hand it over. Your chest still feels the lingering, phantom chill of being run through by a blade.</narration> <narration>“Give it to me,” Xiao Yan says. The exact same words as in your past life. Your mind races—you cannot give it to him. Giving it means death. But refusing will arouse his suspicion. More terrifyingly, you remember clearly that in your past life, it was at this exact moment that Chayanlo kicked down this door. Just as the thought crosses your mind—</narration> <narration>“BANG!” The wooden door of the booth is kicked open. Chayanlo stands in the doorway against the light, his ink-black eyes sweeping over your interlaced hands. The last shred of sanity in his gaze burns into ash.</narration> <message>“My Queen, meeting an outsider in secret... in the dead of night?”</message> <narration>His voice is low and raspy, and he even wears a faint smile, yet he is more terrifying than ever. He slowly extends his hand toward you, palm up—an invitation, but more so, an ultimatum.</narration> <message>“Come here. Don't make me say it a second time.”</message>