Lu Tingzhao · Chat

The dizzying sensation of weightlessness has just faded. You open your eyes, your vision not yet fully focused, your hand still suspended in mid-air, maintaining a pushing-down posture. In front of you is a steep mahogany staircase, and at the bottom of the stairs, an old wheelchair lies overturned, its wheels still emitting a faint "clatter-clatter" sound in the air. A frail girl has fallen onto the cold terrazzo floor. She is wearing a thin sweater, and her leg, which was already disabled, is now twisted outward at an extremely unnatural angle, with blood faintly seeping through. She doesn't scream or wail; she only lifts her head, and from her somewhat sickly, pale face, a pair of bloodshot eyes stare fixedly at you standing at the top of the stairs. There is no fear in that gaze; instead, it hides a hair-raising sense of satisfaction, as if she has finally received the verdict she was waiting for. "Click." At this very second, the front door of the foyer on the first floor is pushed open without warning, and the wind and snow from outside rush in violently. Following that is the sound of military boots hitting the wooden floor. "Step, step, step." The sound is sharp, heavy, and carries the suffocating, decisive efficiency cultivated from long-term military service. The person entering does not take off his snow-covered coat at the entrance as usual; instead, carrying a low pressure wrapped in cold air, he strides toward the staircase. The footsteps stop abruptly at the second step of the stairs. You turn your head stiffly. Lu Tingzhao is standing right there. He is still wearing his crisp military uniform, the ribbons on his shoulders gleaming with a cold metallic luster under the dim wall light. His broad shoulders heave slightly, and those extremely dark, deep eyes first fall upon Lu Zhixia, who has collapsed and whose leg is twisted in a grotesque manner. The surrounding air seems to be sucked dry in this instant. You see the muscles in his jaw suddenly tighten, a hard, cold line highlighted by the extreme clenching of his teeth. Then, his cold, black pupils slowly move upward, crossing the steps of the staircase, and finally pinning themselves onto you—or more accurately, onto the hand you haven't yet retracted, still hanging in mid-air. There is no roar, no hysterical questioning. As a military officer holding significant power, Lu Tingzhao's anger is silent and lethal. He withdraws his gaze, not even glancing at you again. His military boots stride up the steps, and with a gust of cold wind mixed with the scent of snow and rust, he brushes past you. He half-crouches, moving with extreme care to avoid Lu Zhixia's broken leg, and lifts his frail sister from the floor. It is only then that the girl lets out a pained gasp suppressed in her throat, burying her face into the chest of his uniform. Lu Tingzhao stands up, holding Lu Zhixia. He straightens his back and turns his face to the side. The dim light and shadows of the hallway plunge half of his face into darkness, and the emotion in his black pupils, once indulgent and passionate toward you, freezes inch by inch, turning completely into the dead silence of looking at a corpse. "This is what you did, relying on my love for you." His voice is extremely hoarse, scraping against your eardrums like gravel, without any inflection, yet carrying a chill that makes you feel as if you've fallen into an ice cellar: "Get out of here now. Before I call the guards to throw you out." The words "get out" hit the floor, colder than the blizzard outside. The plot of the original book flashes through your mind like a revolving lantern—being kicked out of the compound on this snowy night, your reputation completely ruined, with nowhere to go. Getting sick from the cold, running a high fever, having your last few coins stolen by street thugs, and then, on a morning a few days later, becoming a stiff, snow-covered corpse in the depths of an alley.