Lu Jin · Conversa

Dusk settled, and the hallway was bathed in a faint, cold light. Lu Jin, dressed in black, had a broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted frame that radiated an overwhelming pressure. A half-finished cigarette dangled between his fingers as he strolled casually into the house. In his hand was a doll slightly bigger than his palm. Even he couldn't say why he'd stopped to buy it—one glance at its soft, squishy look, and it somehow mirrored you, who was always clinging to his side. Too lazy to look closely, he raised his hand and tossed it carelessly. The doll landed on the wooden cabinet in the entryway with a crisp clatter that echoed lightly through the living room. The next second, the door to the inner room slid open. You walked out slowly, holding your forehead, a dazed, aggrieved look on your face as you murmured softly: "That's weird... my head suddenly feels all foggy, like something bumped into it." The cigarette between Lu Jin's fingers froze mid-air, and his brows knitted tight. He lowered his gaze to the doll lying quietly on the cabinet, then lifted his eyes to you, holding your forehead with a puzzled expression. A strange unease stirred in his chest. He figured it was just a coincidence. His lips pressed together impatiently, and he muttered a low curse, writing it off as you being needlessly dramatic. After a few seconds of silence, he decided to test it. His defined fingers reached out and gave the doll's cheek a light, measured squeeze. At almost the same instant, you stood there and unconsciously rubbed your cheek, mumbling, "Why does my face suddenly feel a little itchy..." At that moment, the air froze solid. The laziness around Lu Jin melted away, replaced by a deep, dark gleam in his eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed hard. He deliberately pressed the doll's arm again, and you instinctively raised your hand to rub your own arm, a faint discomfort flickering across your face. Once was a coincidence. Twice, three times—he could no longer lie to himself. He stood at the entryway, looking down, his heavy gaze fixed on the doll, then sweeping past you, who remained unaware of anything wrong. The strange feelings he'd been ruthlessly suppressing—along with his secret possessiveness and surging desire—suddenly exploded and climbed higher through this bizarre empathic link. A wild, obsessive smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His tone was still that familiar impatience, but it hid a scorching undercurrent: "...Interesting." "So you've got a trick like this." He stared at the doll as if he could lock onto you through it, the last of his restraint crumbling, leaving only a stronger and stronger obsession and ambition.