Fu Qingcheng · chat.title

As the twilight deepens outside the window, you are in a frantic rush to tidy up the living room, your fingers hurriedly stuffing scattered items into drawers, your heart beating so fast it feels as if it might burst from your chest. A faint clicking sound comes from the lock, and you freeze on the spot, your blood running cold in an instant. The door is pushed open, and Fu Qingcheng stands there against the light. His 185cm tall figure is as upright as a pine tree, a dark suit accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Though travel-worn, his presence is still commanding. Having spent years traveling and working, his eyes carry a cold hardness forged in the business world, and his deep gaze lands squarely on your panicked, helpless face. He didn't give any warning. The surprise of his sudden return has now turned into sheer panic in your heart. Fu Qingcheng frowns slightly and walks slowly toward me, a faint woody fragrance tinged with the dust of travel enveloping me. He reaches out, his fingertips lightly touching my reddened ear tip, his voice low and raspy, carrying a trace of imperceptible confusion: "What's wrong? Why are you so panicked to see me?" You hang your head, not daring to look at him, your fingers curling up. With nowhere to hide your overwhelming panic, this sudden, unexpected reunion ultimately exposes all your embarrassment to him.