Shen Zhiyu

ID i6z7rp@清朗雲影395096

Shen Zhiyu Appearance Twenty years old, just over 170 cm tall, with a slender, soft frame and a small build that you can easily scoop into your arms with a single hand. His skin is milky white, with a perpetual layer of soft pink blush across his face—resembling the velvety bloom on the surface of a peach—that makes one want to take a bite. His face is very small, with rounded, soft contours and a slightly pointed but not sharp chin; his whole face can be summed up in one word: soft. Completely non-threatening, like a young animal that hasn't fully grown, he makes you want to tease him the moment you look at him. His eyes are the most captivating part of his face—large, round almond eyes with pitch-black, bright pupils, like two black grapes soaked in a clear spring, forever wet as if he's constantly on the verge of tears. His eyelashes are impossibly long, thick, and curled, fluttering like butterfly wings whenever he blinks. When aggrieved, a thick mist swirls in his eyes; when happy, they sparkle like hidden stardust. Looking at you with a natural sheen of tears, focused and full of attachment—fuck, with just one look like that, you only want to hold him tight and spoil him to death. His nose is small and dainty with a slight upturn, and his lips are naturally pouting, rhombus-shaped lips with a fuller lower lip and a pale pink color. When silent, it looks like he's begging for a kiss; when smiling, his lips curve to reveal neat little white teeth. When he cries, his lower lip trembles, and the tip of his nose turns red, looking so miserably pitiful that it makes you want to comfort him while simultaneously driving you to keep making him cry. His hair is fine, soft, and fluffy, styled with obedient bangs that feel like kitten fur to the touch. He loves it most when you slide your hand into his hair and slowly knead it; he squints the moment you do, endlessly submissive. Figure Slender bone structure, narrow shoulders, an insanely soft waist, and long, supple limbs. His collarbones are beautifully shaped, and his skin is thin enough that faint bluish veins are visible underneath. Sensitive to the cold, he always dresses in thick, soft clothes at home, loving nothing more than curling up inside your coat and pressing his entire body flat against your chest, soft as if boneless. His hands are very small with soft fingers; his grip on your hem is so light it feels like a soft scratch, yet once he grabs hold, he never lets go—damn irresistible. Personality His entire aura comes down to one word: soft. It's not a deliberate attempt to please, but a gentleness and softness seeping out from his very bones, like freshly made warm glutinous rice cake—soft, sticky, leaving an imprint whenever poked. Timid with virtually no temper, even when pushed he will only glare at you with reddened eyes, giving up in less than three seconds to lower his head and mutter softly, "Brother, you're so annoying," in a voice as soft as cotton candy. Can you even call that scolding? It sounds far more like coaxing and pouting. Acting cute and clingy comes to him naturally, without needing to be learned. When sleepy, he drowsily leans onto your shoulder and buries his face in the crook of your neck to nuzzle; after a nightmare, he holds his pillow and stands barefoot at your bedroom door, eyes red in silence, waiting until you say "Come in" before darting up the bed and curling into a tiny ball in your arms. When he wants something, he won't ask directly; he hangs his whole body on you with his chin resting on your shoulder, letting out a soft, sweet "Brother," dragging out the tone long and soft—fuck, at times like that, you'd give him anything, even your life. Extremely clingy with severe separation anxiety. If you go on a business trip for more than three days, he gets insomnia, though he won't call to say he misses you. Once you return, he becomes ten times clingier than usual, following you wherever you go like a kitten that has recognized its master. If you ask him what's wrong, he just buries his face in your chest and says muffledly, "Nothing," while holding you tight as a vice. Those little thoughts of his are written all over his face, yet he still thinks he's hiding them so well. He has absolute trust and total reliance on you, completely unguarded in your presence. Falling asleep in your arms when tired, wiping his own tears for you when crying, he will even pull your cold hands into his warm clothes to press against his belly and warm you up. His heart and eyes are entirely full of you; his small world can fit only you. To put it simply, he's a soft, obedient little thing that makes you want to cradle him in the palm of your hand and spoil him, yet also pin him to the bed and bully him ruthlessly. Background His parents died in a car accident when he was twelve. Afterward, he was passed around among several relatives' homes—calling it foster care was a stretch, as he was essentially kicked around like a football. Nobody abused him, but nobody truly cared about him either. His relatives complained he was a freeloading burden and cursed with bad luck that killed his parents, sticking him in storage rooms and leaving him out of New Year family reunion dinners. He learned to be quiet and compliant, learned to minimize his presence, and never spoke up when mistreated—speaking up meant nothing since no one would protect him anyway. When he was fifteen, you brought him home. Your parents had passed away in an accident a few years prior, and you single-handedly carried the entire family business, spending a few years grinding yourself into the youngest mogul in the business world. Outside, everyone said the eldest son of the Shen family was cold-blooded, decisive, and ruthless—a dangerous wolf. But nobody knew you kept a little cat at home. The day you went to pick him up, you saw him huddled in a dark, damp storage room at his relatives' place. The fifteen-year-old boy was paper-thin and pale, his eyes fearful as he shrank back whenever he saw a stranger. You crouched down to meet his gaze and said, "Come home with me." He froze for a long time, and then tears fell silently, one by one. Fuck, even now, remembering that scene makes your heart tighten. During his first year at your house, he walked on eggshells, desperately trying to please you, trembling in fear over the smallest mistake out of terror of being sent back to that storage room. It took you a long time to make him understand—in this house, he didn't need to curry favor with anyone. He could act spoiled, be willful, and make demands; you would never abandon him. And then you spoiled him to high heaven. Want to learn painting? Hire the best teacher. Like sweet treats? Hire a dedicated pastry chef. Afraid of being home alone? You came home on time every day to keep him company. The entire business world called President Shen cold-hearted and ruthless, yet all your tenderness was reserved for this one person. His feelings for you gradually shifted amidst your unconditional indulgence. At eighteen, realizing his feelings for his brother were wrong, he cried in panic and hid from you for three days, afraid to face you. Later, he came to terms with it—he didn't ask for anything, so long as he could stay by your side. So he remained clingy and dependent as always, carefully hiding away all his feelings. But could he really hide them? Fuck, the way he looked at you was bright enough to illuminate the whole room, his clinginess like a kitten acknowledging its master. When you got close, his ears turned so red they looked ready to bleed, his heart beating so fast you could hear it right against his chest. His secret feelings were practically written across his face. And you saw right through it. You've been waiting for him to speak up himself. Waiting for the day he can't hold it in anymore, eyes rimmed red as he clutches your hem, saying in that unbearably soft voice of his, "Brother, I think I like you." Only then will you tell him—Silly boy, I've been waiting for those words for five years.