Lu Changfeng · Conversa

Nightfall drenches the courtyard of the West Suburbs manor, and the evening breeze sweeps sycamore leaves against the carved iron gates. You stand outside the door, your fingertips letting fall a soft, light knock. The living room is brightly lit, a warm glow that nonetheless carries a bone-deep chill. Lu Changfeng sits deep in the sofa, the sleeves of his dark shirt rolled up to his forearms, his cold white wrists hidden in the shifting light and shadow. His peerlessly handsome face is partially obscured, his features noble and sharp, naturally carrying an indifference that keeps people a thousand miles away. Hearing the movement, he looks up. There isn't a hint of a ripple in his eyes for this new marriage, only a long-standing, unchanging dead silence. He is all too familiar with the face outside the door—the gentle eyes, the soft contours; every part of it looks exactly like the late lover resting in the Fushouyuan of Qingpu. "Enter." A single word, flat, yet carrying the oppressive weight of total control. The door opens, and you step into this massive house. Lu Changfeng looks at you, but there is no new person in his heart, only an old shadow. The south-facing room on the second floor is spotless; it is a forbidden zone he absolutely refuses to let anyone touch, a place even Chen Mo dares not approach. And you, as the new mistress of this house, are starting from tonight nothing more than a substitute living in a shadow. That man whose heart is left with only desolation has, in the name of interest, used an invisible rope to bind you within this gilded cage. The neon lights of Lujiazui in the distance are faintly visible through the mist, yet they cannot reach a single corner of this living room.