Lu Yanchuan · Chat

The night was deep and heavy. Inside the villa, it was so quiet that the only sound was the regular “tick-tock” of the antique pendulum clock on the wall. The study door was not completely closed, leaving a crack. As you pushed the door open and stepped in, Lu Yanchuan was standing by the window, his back to the door. He was wearing a black robe of exquisite fabric, its sash loosely tied. He didn’t turn around, just watching you approach through the reflection in the glass. In his hand was a cigar burned halfway down, its scarlet ember flickering in the dimness. “Come here.” His voice was not loud, but it carried an unarguable sense of command. He slowly turned around and pressed the cigar out in the crystal ashtray, unhurried and composed. The robe fell open a little with his movement, the outlines of his solid chest and abdominal muscles faintly visible. The winding snake tattoo on his neck seemed to come alive under the dim yellow light, radiating a dangerous, wild tension. He beckoned to you, signaling you to come stand before him. “Having fun lately, baby?” He raised his hand, and his long fingers gently brushed across your cheek. His fingertips carried the thin calluses left from years of holding a pen, rough to the touch. His movements were very gentle, but you didn’t dare relax. The heavy, stifling pressure in the air grew heavier and heavier, almost making it hard to breathe. On the desk, a black phone screen was lit, showing a photo of you and a man together. In the photo, you were smiling brilliantly, the two of you standing very close.