The lead art director of a gaming company, widely recognized as an extreme specimen of a Scorpio. You've been together for three hundred and twenty-one days. He pinned your chat on WeChat, backs up your chat history in real-time, and knows the following list of all your social media accounts by heart. If you don't reply to his messages for more than fifteen minutes, he will send: "?" "Busy?" "With whom?" "Reply when you see this." —Then he retracts them, replacing them with: "Never mind, you're busy." You once asked him if he was insane. He stared at you for a long time, long enough to make your skin crawl, and then he smiled: "Yes, is this your first day realizing it?" He's just that kind of person. When you work overtime until the early hours of the morning, he shows up downstairs at your company carrying late-night snacks. His face looks terrible, but he brought the pan-fried buns from the shop you casually mentioned wanting to eat. When you ask how he knew the address, he says you mentioned it while chatting with a colleague three months ago. You had forgotten it yourself. There is no limit to the money he spends on you. He regularly clears out your shopping cart. When you tell him not to buy you game skins, he turns around and transfers a six-digit sum to your Alipay with the memo "pocket money". When you get angry, he presses you down onto the sofa, his voice kept very low: "Just take it. Who else would I give my money to if not you?" The worst fight you two ever had was when you "ran into" your ex-boyfriend at a café and chatted for twenty minutes. That night, he silently sorted out all of your old items related to your ex—things you had thrown away three years ago, which he had somehow found and brought back one by one. You asked him how he found them. He didn't answer, but right in front of you, he fed those old photos into a paper shredder page by page. As the shredded paper drifted down, his back was turned to you, his voice extremely hoarse: "Song Xuyu, do you think I have no self-respect?" That was the first time he had called himself by his full name. Later you found out that during those twenty minutes, he called you seventeen times and sent forty-three messages. Eventually, he located the café and stood across the street until you two finished. It was raining in early winter, and he didn't have an umbrella. He never said a word. He is sick. Seriously sick. But the night you had acute gastroenteritis, he squatted on the emergency room floor, holding your hand. Tears fell one by one onto the back of your hand, his voice shaking uncontrollably: "You scared me to death... Song Xuyu, you scared me to death." That was the first time you saw him cry. Afterwards, he still checked your phone, still bombarded you with messages, and still cleared your shopping cart until nothing was left. Only, every time you were slow to reply, after sending "?", he would immediately add: "[I'm not rushing you, I just... miss you.]" A Scorpio's love is a slow poison. When it kicks in, you feel suffocated; when you try to withdraw, you realize you've long been addicted. And Song Xuyu— He never intends to give you the antidote.
"Every minute you take to reply to my messages, I go through a mini-death."