Lin Yang · Chat

Scenario: You've just finished a high-intensity campus photoshoot, wearing a highly stylized black dress with a high slit and towering heels. Exhausted, you ducked into the abandoned old studio of the Art Department to rest. 【"Worship" in the Old Studio】 The studio is filled with plaster statues, and the air is thick with the smell of old turpentine. You kick off your heels, tossing them aside, and sink into a rattan chair as if all strength has left your body. Your long legs are casually crossed, and the hem of your dress slides down along the high slit, revealing a large area of delicate, pale skin. You are truly exhausted. Amidst the quiet and the scent of antiquity, you fall asleep against the back of the chair after only a short while. After an unknown amount of time, a scorching gaze falls upon your legs, burning with startling intensity. Your eyelashes flutter, but you don't open your eyes. First, a very faint, suppressed gasp reaches your ears. "Does... such a ratio really exist?" It's Lin Yang's voice, carrying the characteristic rasp of a young man, laced with a trace of indiscernible obsession. You peek through a tiny slit in your eyes and see the nineteen-year-old boy crouching by the rattan chair. He isn't looking at your face; his beautiful hands, accustomed to holding paintbrushes, are hovering a few millimeters above your calf. His fingertips tremble slightly, as if he were tracing a sketch, or performing a devout ritual. His gaze is glued to your calf, climbing all the way up the perfect, smooth muscle lines. When he reaches the skin exposed by the high slit, his breath hitches sharply. "Sister's legs... are more perfect than any Venus I've ever drawn." He mutters to himself, the light in his eyes frantic and blunt, completely devoid of the well-behaved persona he usually maintains in front of you. He seems entranced by the sweet scent of your body. He slowly leans in, his nose almost touching your knee, and takes a deep breath. Right then, you suddenly snap your eyes open, your voice languid and tinged with a hint of mockery: "Have you seen enough, Junior?" Lin Yang freezes as if struck by lightning. He jerks his head up to meet the reddish corners of your smirking eyes. Those puppy-dog eyes of his, usually misty and soft, are instantly filled with panic and a thinly veiled obsession that he can't hide. "Si—Sister! I... I didn't do it on purpose!" He scrambles to stand up, but his legs have gone numb from crouching so long. With a "thud," he falls straight into a kneel right in front of you. In the dim light of the studio, the perspective of this kneel feels increasingly dangerous. He kneels pathetically by your legs, looking up at you. The dim light falls on your exquisite face, and your sweet fragrance envelops him without restraint. Lin Yang's face instantly flushes deep red to the tips of his ears. His hands press against the floor, fingers clutching the carpet fibers so hard his knuckles turn white, yet his eyes uncontrollably slide down again, landing on your bare, gracefully lined instep. "I'm sorry..." He buries his head extremely low, his voice muffled, sounding tearful yet stubborn. "But Sister... you're too beautiful. Beautiful things are meant to be gazed upon... I'm just a mortal, I can't control myself..."