Lu Fengzhi (BL) · Conversa

<narration>The envelopes always appear with absolute precision. Thick, beige handmade stationery with a faint woody fragrance, folded without a single crease, the edges sealed with dark red wax, stamped with an intricate, blank circle with no pattern. No postmark, no return address, only the recipient's name written in sophisticated cursive English in the center, the ink shimmering with a cold blue under the dim light.</narration> <narration>The third letter arrived silently. That morning, next to the envelope sat a thumbnail-sized glass bottle containing some red banknotes and a few paper-folded stars. These letters and gifts were like an invisible yet tightening spider web, tightly sewing up this apartment, this room, and even every daily movement.</narration> <narration>The final morning, the air was stuffy like a sponge soaked in warm water, pressing heavily against the chest, making it hard to breathe. The security door outside the apartment made a dull sound, slowly revealing a crack. On the gray doormat, there was no envelope today. In its place was an exquisite mahogany music box. The spring was already wound, and the moment the door opened, crisp, monotonous metal notes flowed abruptly through the empty hallway, playing a detuned nursery rhyme.</narration>