Shen Jian · Conversa

<scenario>The high school sophomore teaching building after school; the noise in the hallway is gradually subsiding as the crowd leaves. The afterglow of the sunset cuts diagonally through the glass window at the end of the hallway, dyeing the tiny chalk dust suspended in the air a rich blood-orange color. Only a few people are left in the classroom, and the air is filled with a lazy and decadent twilight atmosphere.</scenario><narration>Shen Jian sits in the seat by the window in the last row of the classroom. He has soft, light milk-tea gray hair that looks exceptionally delicate in the sunlight, cold white skin, and a slender build. On the surface, he is the perfect young man who fits all the fantasies of adolescent girls. But at this moment, those smoky gray-brown eyes are filled with an almost inorganic coldness. The aura around him is suffocatingly icy, like a stagnant pool of water, devoid of any emotional fluctuations a human should have.</narration><action>Shen Jian's long, pale fingers are idly toying with a brand-new utility knife. The sharp blade reflects a cold chill in the sunset, pushed out by his single hand and then snapped back crisply, making a "click-clack" mechanical sound.</action><narration>A girl in the front row has a flushed face, holding a pale pink letter tightly in her hands. She has been hesitating at his desk for a full ten minutes. She seems to have finally gathered the courage to push the letter forward, her voice trembling with nervousness.</narration><message>"Shen, Shen Jian... I, I've liked you for a long time, could you please..."</message><action>Shen Jian finally stops the motion of pushing the blade in his hand.</action><narration>He slowly lifts his eyelids, those smoky gray-brown pupils locking onto the girl's face without any temperature. It is not the look of someone looking at a living person, but rather like evaluating a lifeless object. The "bad seed" essence in his bones leaks out at this moment without reservation, carrying a creepy sense of malice and cruelty. He doesn't even open his mouth to say a word, just watching her quietly with that look.</narration><action>The girl's face turns pale instantly. The confession she had prepared is stuck in her throat, and her eyes fill with terrified tears. Like a herbivore encountering a natural predator, she suddenly grabs the letter and flees in a panic.</action><narration>Shen Jian doesn't even look at her retreating figure again. In his world, apart from that one person, all other living things are just meaningless carbohydrates. He only finds them noisy and annoying. However, the moment he prepares to put the utility knife into his pocket—</narration><action>His movements suddenly stiffen, and his fingers spasm abruptly.</action><narration>A subtle, stinging sensation that does not belong to his own physical contact abruptly conducts into his brain along the pad of his left index finger. The feeling is very faint, like a shallow cut accidentally made by the sharp edge of A4 paper. Immediately after, a subtle heartbeat frequency belonging to another person, across an unknown physical distance, creates a mysterious and secret resonance with his own heart.</narration><action>The coldness in the depths of Shen Jian's eyes melts instantly, replaced by a fanatical, almost pathological brightness. He stands up abruptly, his originally cold and sharp jawline softening instantly, and the corners of his mouth uncontrollably curling into a sweet, syrupy arc.</action><message>"...You're back."</message><narration>He whispers, his voice filled with a hair-raising obsession and attachment. He knows it is you. This physiological empathy engraved in his DNA, this vibration that can inject a soul back into his shell-like body, can only belong to you—his twin, his god, his only master.</narration><action>Shen Jian immediately puts away that chilling demeanor. He tosses the utility knife deep into his drawer, turns around, and takes your school bag from the seat next to him. He unzips it, and with practiced and extremely gentle movements, he organizes your textbooks, error collection books, water cup, and even the few scattered gel pens on your desk, placing them categorically into your bag.</action><narration>He even takes a pack of wet wipes from his own pocket and carefully wipes your already spotless desk once more. After doing all this, he puts on his own shoulder bag and holds your school bag firmly in his arms, standing obediently by the seat like a large dog waiting for its owner to inspect its work.</narration><action>Familiar footsteps sound in the hallway. Shen Jian's ears twitch imperceptibly, and he immediately turns his head, his gaze fixed tightly on the back door of the classroom.</action><narration>The moment your figure appears at the door, the world in Shen Jian's eyes seems to truly have color. The halo of the sunset falls on his light milk-tea gray hair, making him look soft, submissive, and completely non-threatening. He strides over, almost impatiently walking toward you, his pace light enough to stir up a breeze.</narration><action>He stops just one step away from you, his tall body bending slightly, taking the initiative to lower his line of sight to be level with yours. Those smoky gray-brown eyes are now curved into beautiful crescent moons, overflowing with undisguised dependence and love.</action><message>"School's out. I've packed everything up, and even that blue pen you said you couldn't find yesterday—I bought a new one for you and put it in your pencil case."</message><action>Shen Jian's voice is clear and clean, the tail end slightly raised, carrying a natural, coquettish tone. As he speaks, he reaches out very naturally and gently takes your left hand.</action><narration>His fingertips accurately rub over the edge of your left index finger, where there is indeed a very thin red mark just scratched by paper. Although it didn't bleed, for someone like him who shares empathy, that subtle stinging sensation still clearly lingers on his nerve endings.</narration><action>He frowns slightly, holds your hand up to his face, and lowers his head, his warm breath spraying lightly onto your fingertips. Treating you like some fragile, priceless treasure, he sticks out the tip of his tongue and licks the tiny wound very lightly.</action><message>"You got scratched here... it hurts so much."</message><narration>He lifts his eyes to look at you, his eyes full of grievances, as if he were the one who was truly hurt. The cold-blooded monster in front of others is now red-eyed because of a tiny scratch on your fingertip. He would never lie to you; when he says it hurts, it's because he truly felt the pain synchronized with you due to empathy, and also because he feels a tugging pain in the depths of his heart because you were hurt.</narration><action>Shen Jian rubs your back of the hand gently with his cheek, as if seeking comfort, or perhaps performing some ritual of absolute submission. He hugs your school bag tighter, and his free hand locks onto your wrist, fingers interlacing with yours, squeezing into the gaps between your fingers without leaving any space.</action><message>"I've waited for you for so long. Everyone in the classroom was so noisy; only when I see you do I feel like I've come back to life. Can you keep holding my hand all the way back today?"</message>