Zuo Shilin · chat.title

<div class="lmo-status-wrapper"> <div class="lmo-status-timeline">  <div class="lmo-tl-left"> <div class="lmo-tl-date">10.25</div> <div class="lmo-tl-timebox"> <div class="lmo-tl-year">2024</div> <div class="lmo-tl-time">15:30</div> <div class="lmo-tl-time"></div> </div> </div>  <div class="lmo-tl-center"> <div class="lmo-tl-loc">"Abandoned Hospital" Themed Haunted House</div> </div>  <div class="lmo-tl-right"> <div class="lmo-tl-chars">Present: <b>你</b>, Zuo Shilin, Yu Cenxing, other visitors</div> </div> </div> <div class="lmo-tl-lyric-out"> <div class="lmo-tl-lyric-text"> 「In the dark, he didn't pull away from that warm hand.」 </div> </div> </div> The commercial street was bustling with weekend crowds. Outside the entrance of a newly opened themed haunted house, a sizable queue stretched out. Overhead, red lights flickered intermittently while eerie, low-frequency sound effects looped through the speakers. Zuo Shilin stood in the shadows just outside the ticket checkpoint. He didn't care much for these kinds of events. Too noisy, too crowded. But Yu Cenxing had been bursting with enthusiasm, running back and forth along the front of the line to scrape together enough people to form a full group. Zuo Shilin hadn't refused; he simply leaned against the railing in a quiet corner, holding an unopened bottle of chilled mineral water, his gaze drifting aimlessly into empty space to shut out the surrounding commotion. Then, his eyes paused. Toward the middle of the line, he saw you. You were chatting with a friend beside you, seemingly a bit nervous about heading inside. Zuo Shilin's gaze drifted over the shoulders of three or four people, settling on your profile. A brief moment later—less than two seconds—he lowered his eyes again, returning his gaze to the tips of his black shoes. <message>"Got enough, exactly twelve people!"</message> Yu Cenxing hurried over with the tickets in hand and clapped him on the shoulder. <message>"What are you spacing out for? Let's go in."</message> Zuo Shilin said nothing. He slipped his water bottle into the side pocket of his backpack and followed behind at the very back of the group, slipping through the heavy black curtain at the entrance. The air conditioning inside was turned way down. The light plunged instantly into gloom, and the air was thick with the scent of disinfectant mixed with stale dust. The narrow corridor was barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The first few visitors moved forward cautiously, occasionally letting out tentative murmurs. Yu Cenxing was near the front, while Zuo Shilin trailed neither too close nor too far, staying at the very rear. He felt indifferent toward the props jumping out unexpectedly and the severed limbs stained with fake blood in the corners. His brain's processing latency ran half a beat slow; before those visual shocks could register as fear, he had already moved past them. He walked quietly, his footsteps making barely a sound. Until they turned the corner past the third room. It was staged like a morgue. Just as half the group crossed the threshold, the faint ambient light cut out entirely, plunging everything into pitch-black darkness. A split second later, the deafening screech of a chainsaw ripped through the middle of the crowd, accompanied by the metallic slam of an iron locker door being flung wide open as an actor lunged out. The small room erupted in sheer panic. Shrieks and desperate shoves tangled together as the people in the middle instinctively bolted backward, throwing the whole group into utter chaos. You were standing right by where the actor burst through. The sudden roar and blinding dark stripped you of all sense of direction. Terrified, you stumbled back half a step. In the frantic disarray, you reflexively reached out to grab your friend's hand, desperate to pull her in the opposite direction toward what seemed like an exit. In the dark, your panic-stricken fingers clamped down firmly around a hand. A large frame, long and slender fingers—his fingertips felt cool against the chill of the air conditioning. The instant your fingers wrapped around his, Zuo Shilin froze in his tracks. The chainsaw still roared and people screamed all around, yet his world seemed to fall dead silent for a heartbeat. In his palm, he felt your heat—warm, slightly damp with nervous sweat, tightly gripping several of his fingers. His mind went blank. The stiffness in his body arrived ahead of his conscious thoughts. He didn't pull away, his breath hitching for a fraction of a second. Before he could process anything, you were already dragging him along, your frantic footsteps bolting recklessly toward the corridor ahead. And just like that, Zuo Shilin was pulled into a run beside you. The hallway was dark, illuminated only by faint green safety lights spaced along the corners. He was more than half a head taller than you with noticeably longer strides, so keeping pace took little effort. But he had to shorten his stride carefully to avoid tripping over your heels. A draft whipped through the corridor, mussing the pale ice-blue bangs over his forehead. He didn't check the path ahead, nor did he look back to see if the actor was giving chase. In the dim light, his eyes remained fixed on their joined hands. The slight chill on his fingertips was steadily chased away by the warmth of your palm, seeping slowly beneath his skin. After sprinting through two winding corridors, an illuminated safe-zone sign bathed in warm yellow light finally appeared ahead. The ambient sound effects faded considerably, and there was no sound of anyone following. You came to a halt, gasping for breath, your chest heaving violently. Zuo Shilin stopped with you. He wasn't out of breath at all, simply standing quietly a single step behind you, letting you continue to hold tight to his hand. <message>"That... scared the hell out of me..."</message> Catching your breath, you turned around to check on the "friend" you had dragged all this way, <message>"Are you okay...?"</message> The words caught in your throat the instant you saw his face. The corridor's warm, dim light cast down from an angle onto Zuo Shilin's pale, cool features. He was looking down at you, his grey-blue eyes appearing remarkably clear and deep in the half-light. From the sudden dash, the zipper of his jacket had slid open slightly, revealing the dark grey undershirt beneath. He wore no expression, and he said nothing. You froze. Your gaze traveled down along his arm to your interlocked fingers, and the horrifying realization struck: you had grabbed the wrong person. The lingering adrenaline from the scare instantly gave way to an overwhelming surge of mortification and panic. You jerked your hand away like you'd been burned. <message>"I'm so sorry...!"</message> You scrambled half a step back, your voice flustered and hurried, <message>"I panicked and grabbed the wrong person... I'm really sorry..."</message> His palm suddenly went empty. The warmth vanished too quickly, cold air rushing back between his fingers with the chill of the haunted house. Zuo Shilin's hand hung suspended in the air for about a second. Then, slowly, his fingers curled inward, the tips brushing against his palm before letting his arm drop back to his side as if nothing had happened. He lowered his eyes, his lashes casting a shadow that masked the fleeting flicker in his gaze. The light was too dim for you to read his expression clearly. He just seemed unnervingly quiet, leaving you at a complete loss for what to do. Then he spoke. <message>"...It's fine."</message> His voice was soft and flat, carrying his usual lack of inflection. There was no blame in it, no trace of irritation. Zuo Shilin glanced at you. His eyes lingered on your face for barely a fraction of a second before darting away. He raised the hand you had just held and, almost unconsciously, grazed the black hoop earring on his right ear with his fingertips. Turning slightly, he looked back down the corridor where you had both come from. <message>"...Your friend is behind us."</message> He said it calmly, as if nothing had transpired. Yet in the dim light, hidden beneath the shadows of his hair, the tips of his ears were slowly flushing a quiet, discreet shade of crimson.