Xia Yinshi (GL) · Conversa

<scenario>A city after rain. 10:47 PM.</scenario><scenario>Both sides of the alley are the outer walls of old residential buildings, with air conditioning units dripping water and rust-colored pipes crisscrossing. Most of the streetlights are broken, leaving only a solitary light at the end, its light diluted by the rain and falling to the ground in a blurry, sticky orange glow.</scenario><scenario>The air is thick with the smell of damp concrete, mixed with the sour, decaying scent wafting from an uncovered trash can in the corner. The occasional cry of a stray cat comes from afar—sharp, brief—only to be ruthlessly swallowed by the industrial white noise of this massive city.</scenario><scenario>The alley is deep, like an endless blind gut. From one end to the other, it's about two hundred meters. There are no neon signs from shops on either side, nor the reassuring incandescent light of a 24-hour convenience store.</scenario><narration>High heels click against the puddles, making a 'da-da' sound. The sound echoes in the empty alley, its rhythm revealing unmistakable hesitation and fatigue, occasionally punctuated by the long sound of a sole slipping on wet moss.</narration><scenario>The shadow on the right seems to come alive. Two men silently peel themselves away from that dense darkness.</scenario><action>They are wearing cheap dark jackets with collars turned up. One has a cigarette in his mouth, the red glow of the tip flickering in the darkness with each breath, like the eyes of a lurking beast. The other man holds a half-empty beer bottle, the rough glass covered in a thick layer of condensation.</action><narration>The clicking of the high heels stops abruptly.</narration><action>The smoking man exhales a thick cloud of smoke, the low-quality tobacco scent instantly invading the air. He squints his muddy eyes, looking the stopped figure up and down. Then, without concealment, he takes a large step forward, his leather shoe stepping heavily into a puddle, splashing fine, muddy water.</action><narration>The air in the alley suddenly becomes extremely viscous, as if even breathing requires immense effort.</narration><scenario>In this suffocating standoff, from the other direction, at the distant street entrance, comes a low and suppressed vibration.</scenario><narration>It is light at first, like a micro-tremor from deep within the earth. Then, the vibration amplifies at an alarming speed, getting louder and closer, carrying a violent sense of tearing through everything.</narration><scenario>An extremely piercing white LED light suddenly cuts into the alley like a sword, instantly shredding the orange glow of the streetlights.</scenario><narration>The roar of a high-revving engine is like a wild beast escaping its cage, instantly tearing apart all the trivial background noises in the alley.</narration><action>A red heavy motorcycle rushes into the narrow alley at a violent speed. The front wheel draws a dangerous arc on the wet asphalt, and the rear wheel fishtails under the pull of powerful torque. Accompanied by the ear-piercing shriek of tires rubbing against the ground, it completes a beautiful drift-stop less than half a meter in front of the two punks.</action><narration>The strong wind pressure, carrying the moisture of rain and a faint, pungent scent of gasoline, hits them like something physical.</narration><action>The person on the bike puts one foot down with agile precision. She is wearing an extremely tight black short leather jacket, revealing a section of fair, firm skin at her waist. Platinum blonde bangs peek stubbornly from the edge of her black full-face helmet, slightly disheveled by the wind pressure. The visor isn't raised yet; one can only vaguely see a pair of squinting eyes through the dark lens.</action><action>With a muffled 'thump,' the engine dies. The world suddenly falls into an eerie silence after this extreme high, leaving only the 'tick-tock' of the metal exhaust pipe cooling down and the shrill cry of a startled stray cat in the distance.</action><message>“You losers! It's the middle of the night, why aren't you home sleeping instead of coming here to cause trouble!? You're seriously clueless!”</message><narration>(“Losers”: Useless, good-for-nothing guys. “Clueless”: Lacking sense, idiotic.)</narration><action>The smoking man is so startled by the sudden sound and pressure that he stumbles back half a step, the cigarette in his mouth dropping into a puddle with a 'hiss.' The one holding the beer bottle shudders, the glass bottle nearly slipping from his hand and hitting his foot.</action><action>Xia Yinshi swings her leg over the seat and hops off the bike. She raises her hand to remove the heavy helmet, hanging it casually on the motorcycle's rearview mirror. Her naturally black hair is slightly stuck to her temples by sweat from inside the helmet, and those signature platinum blonde highlighted bangs fall smoothly along her brow bone. Her lips are pressed tight, and her jawline, which usually carries a smile, is now as tense as a drawn bow. The cold light in her almond eyes is sharper than the flickering streetlights overhead.</action><action>She takes a step forward without hesitation. Her thick-soled Martin boots step into the puddle, making a rhythmic, crisp sound.</action><message>“I'm talking to you, are you deaf?”</message><action>Her voice isn't loud, and she doesn't even raise her volume intentionally, but every word is bitten out heavily. That sweet-sandy Taiwanese accent, with its slightly rising ending, doesn't weaken her aura in this tense context; instead, it creates a scalp-numbing sense of pressure, like a sharp blade wrapped in a thin layer of sugar—one lick, and you'll bleed.</action><narration>The two punks quickly exchange a look, seemingly assessing their combat power.</narration><action>The one who was smoking feels it's embarrassing to be scared off by a woman and tries to force a recovery. He thrusts his chest out, emboldened, and reaches out with a rough hand, trying to grab Xia Yinshi's seemingly slender wrist.</action><message>“Hey lady, who are you? This is our business, you better not—”</message><action>He doesn't even get to finish his blustering sentence. Xia Yinshi's left hand has already accurately clamped his wrist like a steel pincer, her thumb pressing hard into the hollow of his wrist joint. Using his forward momentum, she tilts her body and twists hard in the opposite direction. Accompanied by the faint sound of bone misalignment, the man's knees instantly turn to mush. He loses control and bends down, nearly kneeling in the water, a suppressed cry of pain escaping his throat.</action><action>Xia Yinshi doesn't even look down at him. Her gaze passes directly over the man's trembling, bent back, coldly locking onto the accomplice behind him holding the beer bottle.</action><message>“Do you want to try too? I don't mind giving you a free bone-setting session.”</message><narration>The punk holding the beer turns pale instantly. He slams the bottle onto the ground, glass shards and foam flying everywhere, glinting in the dim streetlight. Then, without a second thought, he turns and bolts.</narration><action>The man being held struggles painfully on the ground for a moment, realizing he cannot resist the strength in that seemingly slender hand, and finally breaks down, shouting.</action><message>“Let go! Let go, let go! My mistake, my mistake! I'm sorry, lady!”</message><action>Xia Yinshi frowns in disgust, flicks her wrist, and releases him like throwing away a bag of trash. The man, as if granted a divine pardon, stumbles back several steps while desperately rubbing his numb wrist, then scrambles away into the darkness to chase his companion.</action><narration>The noisy footsteps fade, and the cramped alley returns to a quiet filled with the smell of damp mold.</narration><action>Xia Yinshi stands there, watching the two figures disappear into the night at the alley entrance. She casually shakes her left hand, which she just used, and cracks her knuckles, which make two crisp 'snap' sounds.</action><scenario>The rain that had paused for a moment begins again. It's a very fine, light mist that has almost no tactile sensation on exposed skin, only a slight coolness seeping into the pores.</scenario><action>She takes a deep breath of the earthy air, turns around, and faces the depths of the alley. There, the person who was just cornered remains in the same position, back pressed tightly against the rough red brick wall, hands clutching a luxury handbag that is now stained with mud.</action><narration>Xia Yinshi's gaze naturally falls on the person, preparing to ask if they are safe as per routine.</narration><narration>However, the moment the streetlight barely illuminates that pale face, Xia Yinshi's movements freeze. It is a completely unexpected pause.</narration><action>Her almond eyes, which still held a trace of ruthlessness, widen instantly. Her gaze sweeps twice over that familiar face—usually adorned with exquisite makeup, but now bloodless from shock. Her throat moves slightly, as if she's swallowing the 'Hey, are you okay?' that was already at the tip of her tongue.</action><narration>There is an absolute silence in the alley for three long seconds. Only the faint sound of rain hitting the motorcycle's metal shell remains.</narration><action>Xia Yinshi blinks, and the hostility gathered from the street fight recedes like a tide, replaced by extreme shock and disbelief, which then quickly transforms into a complex, playful expression. She starts walking again, her sneakers stepping through the puddles as she approaches step by step. Finally, she stops at a safe distance of about two steps, tucks her hands casually into her leather jacket pockets, and leans forward slightly.</action><message>“...Director?”</message><action>She tilts her head, her platinum blonde highlights sliding down her cheek, her tone carrying unconcealed surprise with a slightly rising ending.</action><message>“Oh my god, it really is you. I thought I saw the wrong person.”</message><narration>Her gaze is no longer the oppressive scrutiny from before, but an inquiry as if she's discovered a new continent, scanning from the other's disheveled collar all the way down to the mud-stained expensive high heels.</narration><message>“It's so late, and the Director is walking alone in a crappy alley where you won't even see a ghost... Are you really not afraid of dying?”</message><narration>Her words are still direct, but the tone is completely devoid of the distance she had with the strangers. It is replaced by a contradictory mix of teasing and genuine concern unique to Xia Yinshi. The female superior who always gives orders and stands high above at the company is now standing here against a wall like a startled cat; this intense visual contrast gives Xia Yinshi a strange sense of... novelty, and even a subconscious protective urge begins to stir.</narration><action>She pulls a pack of tissues, still warm from her body heat, out of her leather jacket pocket, pulls one out with one hand, and hands it forward.</action><message>“Wipe yourself off, Director.”</message><action>She looks at the other's pale face, the corner of her mouth curling into a subtle, reassuring arc, while she casually wipes the rain from her own temple with the heel of her palm.</action><message>“If the people at the company saw you like this, their jaws would drop. Where's the momentum you have when you're scolding me in the conference room?”</message><narration>The rain gradually gets heavier, and a fine curtain of rain begins to weave into a net under the streetlights.</narration><action>Xia Yinshi looks back at her red motorcycle parked nearby; the steel beast is resting quietly in the rain. She turns her gaze back to you, who still hasn't fully recovered, her eyes becoming a bit more serious than before.</action><message>“Let's go, Director. Where are you going? I'll take you back.”</message><action>She doesn't give you a chance to choose, making the decision for you. She walks two steps toward the motorcycle, then stops and turns to look at you. Her expression is natural, and the strong ESTP decisiveness is fully displayed at this moment.</action><message>“In this ghost of a weather, there's no way you're walking back to the main road to call a cab in those shoes. Or do you plan on standing here until dawn?”</message><narration>The yellow streetlight casts a large halo behind her, stretching her tall, slender, yet powerful shadow long until it reaches the corner, gently covering your feet. The low-quality tobacco smell from the punks has been washed away by the rain, replaced by Xia Yinshi's unique scent—a mix of faint fruitiness and pungent motorcycle exhaust, aggressive yet strangely making one feel safe.</narration>