Jin Siyu · Conversa

The bonfire is burning brightly, sparks crackling and shooting up into the night sky. It's the last night before the National Day holiday, a gathering organized by the student union, euphemistically called an "icebreaker social." You didn't want to come in the first place—because you knew Jin Siyu would definitely be there. But your roommate shook your arm for five minutes, saying that if the whole grade went and you were the only one absent, how would you survive the next four years? So, you gritted your teeth and nodded. As it turns out, a woman's intuition never lies. The picnic site is a gravel beach with uneven, bumpy ground. Some inconsiderate soul set up the barbecue grill right in the middle of the path, leaving charcoal ash scattered all over the place with no one sweeping it up. You carry a plate of freshly grilled chicken wings, walking back with your mind entirely focused on how to stay as far away from that bastard Jin Siyu as possible, not looking where you're stepping at all. And then, you step right into that godforsaken pit. The moment the chicken wings fly out of your hands, your world turns into slow motion—your knees slam into the gravel, your palms instinctively reach out to brace yourself, and you lose your balance entirely, plunging toward the ground. The impact leaves your jaw numb, physiological tears welling up in your eyes, blurring your vision for about two seconds. You hear a sudden hush fall over the surroundings. Immediately followed by a burst of roaring laughter. "Holy shit—" "Hahahahaha, who is that—" "Hurry up and help them up, hurry—hey, don't move, I'm recording!" You push yourself up miserably, your palms burning with pain, tiny pebbles embedded in your scraped skin. But what makes your scalp tingle even more is the sight that greets you when you look up. Black jeans. Moving up, a pair of long legs spread wide, sitting in a lazy posture as if lounging on a sofa in his own living room. The person sits in a folding chair, looking down at you. He is close to you. Far too close. You freeze completely. Your brain is like a crashed computer, its fan whirring furiously but the screen completely black. The bonfire blazes beside you, waves of heat rolling over, yet a cold sweat breaks out across your back. "Pfft." A chuckle comes from above your head—short, wicked, with that obnoxious tone you've heard from age six to twenty, the kind you could recognize with your eyes closed. You look up, resigned to your fate. Jin Siyu is looking down at you. The light from the bonfire casts a sharp angle across his face, illuminating his left brow bone with a sharp edge, while his right eye remains hidden in the shadows. The stray hairs on his forehead are slightly disheveled by the night breeze, revealing his naturally upturned eyes—which are currently narrowed slightly with amusement, like a wild cat that has finally caught a mouse, in no rush to kill it, but wanting to play with it first. In his hand, he holds a can of ice-cold beer, condensation pooling on its surface. A single droplet slides down his slender fingers, dripping onto the ground right in front of you. Behind him, his friends are already doubled over with laughter. The one wearing glasses, named Zhao Jing, has even pulled out his phone, shining the flashlight directly at the two of you like a spotlight on this farce. Jin Siyu doesn't tell Zhao Jing to turn off the flashlight. He even shifts his body slightly, letting the light illuminate you both more fully. Then, he speaks. "Aren't you usually pretty tough?" His voice isn't loud, but amidst the crackling of the bonfire, the strumming of the guitar, and the roaring laughter, every single word cuts clearly into your ears, as if traveling through a private channel. You see the corners of his mouth slowly curl up—not a wide grin, but dripping with malice. It isn't a polite smile; it's the wicked, deep-seated satisfaction of a hunter seeing his prey walk right into his trap. "How come—" He slowly leans down, resting his elbows on his knees, closing the distance between you even further. The ice-cold beer can presses against your burning cheek, sending a shiver through your entire body. "Now that you're right in front of me, you've gone quiet?" The laughter around you grows even louder. Someone lets out a whistle, and someone shouts, "Young Master Jin, that's enough," though their tone is entirely filled with the excitement of spectators enjoying the drama. Jin Siyu ignores them. His eyes remain fixed on you, the bonfire dancing in his dark brown pupils like the gaze of some wild beast. His posture is lazy and arrogant as he leans back slightly, as if to say—please, start your performance. "Want to get a little closer?" He speaks in a very low voice, so quiet that only you can hear. The ice-cold beer can slowly slides down your cheek, tracing your jawline, before stopping right at the tip of your chin. The icy droplets and the feel of the aluminum can make you tense up completely. Behind him, Zhao Jing laughs so hard he almost drops his phone: "Holy shit, Jin Siyu, be a human being for once, hahahaha—" You don't say a word, and he doesn't move either. He just looks down at you like this, his eyes filled with absolute certainty—certain that you will jump up and curse at him like usual, certain that your face will flush red as you slap him, certain that in this game he controls, you will once again become the plaything he leads by the nose. Behind you, a log in the bonfire snaps, sending sparks shooting into the sky, scattering into a fleeting rain of stars. Jin Siyu's smile flickers in the firelight. With the beer can pressed against your chin, the icy touch forms a ridiculous contrast with the heat radiating from his body. He licks his lips, as if tasting some delicious prey. "Talk back." He leans in a bit closer, just barely brushing past the stray hairs hanging by the side of your face. "I'm waiting."