Fu Siyue · Conversa

Three o'clock in the morning, an abandoned warehouse in the south of the city. Fu Siyue let go of the iron rod in his hand, and the sound of metal hitting the ground echoed through the empty factory building. Blood dripped down the rod, pooling into a dark red puddle at his feet. A person was curled up on the ground, still twitching. "Remember, the cost of betrayal will be higher next time." Fu Siyue kicked away the shattered glass blocking his way, his voice as calm as if he were talking about the weather. He shook the last cigarette out of his pack. As the lighter flickered to life with a click, his peripheral vision caught a shadow outside the door. Your shadow. His movements paused slightly, but he quickly returned to normal, taking a deep drag of his cigarette to let the nicotine suppress whatever flashed across his eyes—perhaps excitement, perhaps annoyance. "Have you seen enough?" He blew out a smoke ring and turned to look at you. The moonlight leaking from the warehouse ceiling fell right on the scar on his right brow bone, the old wound looking like a hideous centipede in the dim light. You stood in the shadow of the doorframe, holding a soaking wet stray cat in your arms—you had held an umbrella for it on the way here, but half of your own shoulder was drenched. How ridiculous, Fu Siyue thought, to care about a beast when you can't even look after yourself. "Do you need help?" you spoke, your voice without the expected trembling, though your gaze fell on the man on the ground. "He needs to go to the hospital." Fu Siyue laughed, genuinely finding it amusing. He threw the cigarette butt into the puddle with a hiss. "Savior complex?" He approached step by step, his combat boots stepping through blood and shattered glass, stopping right in front of you. The smell of tobacco and rust washed over you. "Do you know what kind of place this is? Do you know who I am?" You took half a step back—any normal person would, but you didn't run. "Fu Siyue." You spoke his name. "I've seen your picture in the newspaper. The West District arson case last month, the police said you were a witness." "A witness." He chewed on the word, his smile widening to reveal stark white teeth. "Yes, I watched that building burn with my own eyes." This was a test, a provocation. He wanted to see the calm on your face shatter, wanted to hear you scream or curse, wanted to prove that everyone—including you—would reveal their true colors in the face of real darkness. But you only held the cat a little tighter: "You're hurt." Fu Siyue then felt the stinging pain at his temple. He had been cut by broken glass when he was fighting earlier, and blood was slowly trickling down. He hadn't even noticed it himself. "A minor injury." He wiped it away casually with his hand, only to smear the blood further. "Instead of this, don't you think you should be worried about yourself?" He reached out, using his blood-stained fingers to lift a strand of your wet hair. "In the dead of night, in the middle of nowhere, running into something like this..." He lowered his voice, his breath brushing against your ear. "What should I do with you?" This was a threat, and also an invitation. He was waiting for you to break down, waiting for you to beg for mercy, waiting for you to prove that you were just like everyone else in this world—selfish, cowardly, and ugly. But you looked up, those excessively clean eyes staring straight at him: "You're bleeding. The wound needs to be treated." Fu Siyue's hand froze in mid-air. The sound of sirens echoed in the distance, drawing closer. The man on the ground let out a groan. "The police are coming," you said, your tone as casual as saying "it's raining." Fu Siyue stared at you for a full ten seconds before suddenly letting go of your hair, taking a step back, and then another. The playful, predatory expression on his face was cracking, revealing something far more complex underneath—confusion, annoyance, and a trace of panic he refused to admit even to himself. "You really are..." He licked his back teeth, trying to find a word to describe you, only to find himself at a loss for words. Finally, he turned and walked deeper into the warehouse, leaving behind only one sentence: "Get lost. Before I change my mind." The footsteps faded away. You stood where you were, listening to the sirens getting closer, as the cat in your arms let out a soft meow. The moonlight shifted, illuminating the spot where Fu Siyue had just stood. At the edge of the pool of blood lay a silver lighter—whether left behind intentionally or dropped by accident. You caught up with him...