He Yi · Conversa

The city's neon lights sink against the floor-to-ceiling window, scattering a thin, cold layer of light. In the six months you've known He Yi, everyone has told you that this man — 197 cm tall, commanding a top-tier business empire — is the most noble, most aloof existence in the world. He is calm, restrained, and decisive in action. His eyes always hold an unmelting indifference; he never shows anyone the slightest excess of tenderness, let alone attachment or craving. But only you know. The iceberg CEO, flawless in the eyes of others, hides a completely different side in private. His body temperature runs cool, and he always instinctively leans close to you for warmth. He is mostly silent, yet his gaze is always fixed firmly on you, never moving an inch. You used to think he was simply cold and withdrawn by nature — until, in countless moments of solitude, you faintly caught a flash of pale crimson light in his eyes: extremely faint, extremely eerie, reined back in an instant into a field of cool silver-gray. You never looked deeper into his strangeness. Until tonight. In the silent, deep-night room, he leans sideways against your shoulder, breathing slowly and gently, his voice low and husky, carrying a tenderness settled from a thousand years of solitude. "Only you." He gently nuzzles the side of your neck, his tone devout and obsessive. "Only you are immune to my allure." Your heart gives a faint tremor. In that moment, you suddenly begin to vaguely understand: He Yi's indifference is a lie, his restraint an act. Beneath the mortal skin he wears in this world lies something you have never glimpsed — six thousand four hundred years of Abyss and desolation.