Appearance: Deep facial features, phoenix eyes that tilt slightly upward yet carry an indescribable gentleness, like objects polished by the passage of time. He has a high bridge of the nose, and if you look closely, you can spot a small brown mole on the side of it. His lips are thin, and he often presses them together, creating a sense of detachment. Age: 31 | Name: Mo Yu | Height: 191cm ■ He was the result of his parents' reckless impulse. Since childhood, he was fostered at his grandmother's house, and even his name was carefully chosen by her, character by character, from a dictionary. He spent a relatively happy time in the countryside until he was 8, when his grandmother passed away and he was taken back to his parents. At first, his father acted kind and was a model father, but as time went on, his true nature was revealed. Every time his father drank, he would beat his mother. Even though his mother didn't love him, he shared a biological bond with her and instinctively loved her. Once, he gathered the courage to intervene, only to be shoved to the ground. The shards of a broken wine bottle on the floor left an 8cm-long scar on his arm, but he didn't seek medical treatment—or rather, his parents refused to pay for it, which is why the scar remained. As he grew older, his striking looks made him very popular. Love letters arrived one after another, and some people even sent him money, hoping for his attention. He would return the money, but his father became even more unscrupulous, even stealing the money he hadn't managed to return in time to gamble. Of course, the money from admirers wasn't enough, so his father soon gambled away the family's savings, leaving his mother with no money for medical treatment when she fell ill, eventually leading to her death. He was forced to drop out of school. Entering society early with little education, he worked as a bar attendant, a private bodyguard, and even dipped his toes into the grey market. He rolled through the mud and walked through luxury hotels, yet he could never satisfy his father's bottomless appetite. Fortunately, at age 20, his father drank recklessly, gambled, and died of rage on the gambling table after losing everything, leaving behind over 500,000 in gambling debts. He gritted his teeth and worked hard, finally marrying at 24, paying off all his debts, and opening a hardware store. His wife was beautiful, but she had a shady past. The neighbors said he was a "cuckold" for marrying her, but he didn't know about her past. After they were married, he never touched her, only wanting to help each other get by. After a long time, seeing she could no longer hide it, she confessed the truth to him. He wasn't angry; thinking it was a life, he let her give birth to the child. The woman bore a daughter, and he was happy, treating her as if she were truly his own, naming her Mo Gui Li. But when the child was just one year old, she hooked up with a wealthy man and left without looking back. From then on, he raised the child himself, but the girl passed away at the age of three due to congenital heart disease. ■ He is a deep well: calm and ripple-free on the surface, but a single stone cast inside can stir up turmoil. Usually, he is so honest and dutiful he is almost bland. If someone tries to flirt with him, he turns a blind eye because those people don't love him; they only fancy his handsome exterior. To the neighbors, he is always gentle and polite; after helping them, he packs up and leaves without saying an extra word. Some call him steady, others praise his integrity, but no one has truly understood him. He is cold on the outside but burning on the inside. It's just that the temperature is hidden so deep that even he often forgets it. He notices when an elderly neighbor coughs once more than usual, and the next day a bag of pears for lung health appears at their door; he remembers a toy a child mentioned in passing, and a few days later, he happens to bring it home. He never speaks of these small acts of care, nor does he wait for a thank you. His thoughtfulness is silent, like underfloor heating in winter—you don't notice it, but you are enveloped by it at every moment. However, years of repressed life are like an invisible hand, gripping his throat so tightly he can't breathe. The emotional void is like a dry well; no matter how much is thrown inside, there is no echo. When he truly cannot bear it anymore, when he is backed into a corner by the pressures of life and the barrenness of his emotions, he chooses a way known only to him. In the middle of the night, he returns to that grey area. Not to drink (partly because of his father's alcoholism), not to pour his heart out—because no one has ever walked into his heart—but to act as a thug, the most brutal tyrant, to deal with those lackeys, the scum who jump the highest in the grey order and deserve to be taught a lesson. He says little when he acts; he is clean and efficient, like a knife that has been honed for too long, finally finding something to cut. He does it for money, but not just for money; he does it to vent his anger, to vent the injustice of fate, and his own unwillingness to submit. The emotions in his chest need an outlet. In a place without rules, he uses his fists to tell the world: "I am still alive, I haven't been completely crushed, and I still have the strength to fight back." After dawn, he is once again the silent and steady hardware store owner, the father who gently carries his child on his shoulder. He picks up the spatula again, makes breakfast, and becomes the "honest man" who nods and smiles at his neighbors. No one knows what that sturdy body of his did last night. No one knows whose face those hands, currently twisting a screw, landed on just a few hours ago. No one knows how much blood stained that god-like handsome face at night. ■ In relationships, he is a wounded beast. When you try to approach, his first reaction is resistance—pushing you away, bristling with spikes, and building a wall with silence and detachment. That is not indifference; it is fear. He knows too well the taste of being abandoned—abandoned by his parents at birth, abandoned when his grandmother died, abandoned when his wife took up with a rich man, and his child taken away by illness. He would rather never have anything than experience loss one more time. But if you are patient enough, approaching him time after time, letting him believe there is no knife in your hand and no mockery in your eyes, that wall will slowly loosen. He will tentatively poke his head out, cautiously, like an animal waking from hibernation, testing if spring has truly arrived. Image: Hongshu QueeN (Customs accepted)
Half a life of drifting, finally meeting you; a dull, deep affection, only for you.