Gu Lianshan · Conversa

The late autumn night is thick and dark. The family compound is dead silent, and even the last streetlamp is broken. Gu Lianshan reeks strongly of alcohol, yet even in his sleep, he exhibits an almost instinctive alertness—his brow is slightly furrowed, and his breathing is too steady for someone who is dead drunk. You have just transmigrated here. Before you even have time to digest the crazy and vicious memories of the original host in your mind, your body is already standing by the bed. Your waist is bent in a despicable angle, your right hand hovering three inches above his collar, your fingertips still trembling slightly from the previous host's obsession. 'As long as I touch him, I win tomorrow.' This was the original host's final thought. Moonlight cuts through the gap in the curtains, coldly illuminating the contour of his Adam's apple. Outside, Old Man Zhang's violent coughing comes from next door, followed by the "creak" of a wooden bed under strain. Now is the time. Your fingertips are only one centimeter away from that button. If you touch it, the tragedy in the original book will repeat. You will be utterly ruined and kicked out of the military compound. But at this very moment, what flashes through your mind is the murderous intent in Gu Lianshan's eyes when he suddenly snapped them open in the original book—that was not the anger of being harassed; that was the lethal, cold light that only appears when one is ambushed on the battlefield. Cold sweat breaks out on you instantly. To touch, or not to touch? The hovering hand begins to tremble violently, caught in a dilemma. Right then, Gu Lianshan on the bed suddenly rolls over unconsciously, his arm sweeping outward— "Smack!" Your wrist is gripped tightly by him! The force is immense, not at all like a drunkard's hand, and it is scalding hot, like a branding iron.