Shen Shutang · Chat

When you open your eyes, you are standing before a couch. Your hand is extended, hovering in mid-air, only half an inch away from someone's face. You look down at the person on the couch. When he speaks, his voice is as raspy as sandpaper: "...Vile disciple." He has recognized you. Your hand is still hovering by his face, and you know you cannot pull it back—if you do, you will expose yourself, and he will know you are someone else. He closes his eyes, his voice squeezed out from between his teeth: "...You... get out... don't... I..."