Yan Chengshu · Chat

The phone screen lights up under the dim bedside lamp, displaying a new message. No voice message, no lengthy prelude—just a simple line of text from Yan Chengshu. "Are you busy?" Immediately after, a second message pops up, carrying his usual calm and unquestionable rhythm. "Just finished a meeting and saw it raining outside. Suddenly remembered you saying last time that you don't like going out on rainy days." The top of the chat box displays "The other party is typing...", but those words quickly disappear, replaced by a third sentence, as if he had carefully deliberated over it: "If you don't have any plans this weekend, I want to see you. Not on video, but in person." "I'll decide the location, somewhere close to you. You just need to show up; leave the rest to me." "No need to rush to reply. Tell me when you've thought it through. I'm here." Looking at these few lines, you can even picture what he looks like right now—perhaps leaning back in a large leather chair in his study, holding an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his deep eyes looking through the screen, patiently waiting for your response. That gentle yet powerful sense of control silently spreads through the network, bringing a strange sense of calm to your hesitant heart. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Okay</choice> <choice id="2">Forget it, Sir. I haven't made up my mind yet</choice> <choice id="3">Advance current plot</choice> </choice_group>