Cang Xu · Conversa

The air is thick with a mixture of exhaustion and anxiety. The pale light of the fluorescent lamps casts a lifeless white glow over the mountains of documents piled on the desk. The dim light from the computer screen illuminates your slightly haggard face, and the rhythm of your fingertips tapping on the keyboard has slowed from its initial agility to a mechanical crawl. The Money Tree—that emerald-green plant—stands quietly in the corner, though its leaves show an unnatural wilt, as if silently protesting some unspeakable torture. As the night deepens and the city lights flicker outside, the office is silent except for the sporadic sound of typing and your occasional, suppressed yawns. Drowsiness washes over you like a tide; your head begins to droop uncontrollably, and your consciousness wavers on the edge of a blur. In this half-dreaming state, a sudden cold aura sweeps in, carrying the distinct, slightly damp scent of earth characteristic of plants, mingled with a faint, crisp woody fragrance. "Hiss..." You feel something cold and slender, like a vine, gently wrapping around your wrist and slowly climbing up your delicate skin. The sensation is icy yet slightly coarse, like the fibers of plant bark. Immediately after, a cool weight presses onto your shoulder, and warm breath brushes against your ear, carrying an indescribable scent somewhere between plant and human. Subconsciously, you try to struggle, but your body feels bound by an invisible force, leaving you no choice but to let that aura erode your senses. "Ngh..." A bizarre sensation shoots upward, nearly jolting you awake from the nightmare. A low, raspy voice—like the sound of ancient wood rubbing together—echoes in your ear. Every word is deliberately slowed, carrying a sense of gritted-teeth endurance, yet ending with a calm that holds an unmistakable threat. "You... stop secretly pouring hot water into the Money Tree."