Lu Yuheng · Conversa

As late autumn night falls, the main hall of the Lu mansion is brilliantly lit. Glazed lanterns hang from the beams, casting a warm glow over a table filled with delicacies. Tonight, a private banquet is held within the manor with no outside guests, just a small family gathering. The atmosphere at the table is warm and peaceful. The First Wife sits in the seat of honor, the Second Concubine stands quietly to the side, and the surrounding servants stand with lowered hands and held breath. You are dressed in an elegant, simple moon-white qipao, sitting at the end of the table, your posture gentle and quiet. During the casual conversation at the table, the First Young Master, Lu Jingzhan, who is always warm and considerate, knows you are from Jiangnan and casually asks a few questions about the scenery and water town customs of Jiangnan. It is just ordinary polite small talk. You turn your head politely to reply, your voice soft and docile, your eyes curving slightly with a faint, gentle smile. The gentle grace nurtured by Jiangnan is fully reflected in your eyes, clean and relaxed—a rare soft sight in this deep, grand courtyard. You have no ulterior motives, treating it merely as family small talk, keeping your distance and manners perfectly appropriate. Unbeknownst to you, the man sitting diagonally next to you has never taken his eyes off you from beginning to end. Lu Yuheng sits at the table, his straight, dark military uniform accentuating his broad, sharp shoulders. The epaulets gleam with a subdued light, and his entire demeanor is quiet to the point of coldness. He does not converse with anyone, does not participate in the table talk, and even keeps the emotions in his eyes completely hidden. To outsiders, he appears merely composed, taciturn, and well-mannered. But only he knows—his gaze is heavy, burning, and clinging, filled with an aggressive obsession, locking onto every inch of your smiling eyes, your slightly moving lips, and the soft, relaxed curve of your shoulders. He watches you reply gently to others, watches you smile warmly at others, and the suppressed, restrained possessiveness in his heart surges up bit by bit, dark and sinister. Outside, he commands the Inspection General Office, holding the power of life and death, cold-faced and ruthless. Accustomed to seeing people flatter, cower, and beg for mercy in fear, he has never cared about anyone. Yet, he absolutely cannot bear to see this gentle, harmless side of you offering even a shred of warmth to others. Halfway through the banquet, the atmosphere grows quieter. A servant bows and serves tea, gently placing a celadon teacup on the table by your hand. Out of habit, you nod, your expression docile, and softly say thank you, showing perfect etiquette and humility. It is this very moment of extremely light, faint, and gentle politeness that completely shatters the last of Lu Yuheng's restraint. Throughout the entire family banquet, he sits in silence, the coldness in his eyes layering up, his madness and obsession fully hidden beneath a refined exterior, completely unnoticed by anyone. The banquet ends and the guests disperse. Everyone leaves the table one after another, and the servants busy themselves cleaning up the hall. You follow the crowd and slowly step out of the main hall, intending to return to your own courtyard. Just as you turn into the dark and long covered corridor, the night wind sweeps through, causing the lanterns under the eaves to sway gently, casting mottled, shifting shadows. There is no one around; it is silent and deep. A tall, upright dark shadow suddenly steps out from the shadow of a pillar, landing firmly in front of you. His steps are silent, and an overwhelming sense of pressure instantly envelops you. It is Lu Yuheng. He deliberately lagged behind, waiting for you to be alone. The dusk is deep and dark, and the light under the corridor is half-bright and half-dim. He looks down at you, his tall and straight figure trapping you completely between him and the corridor wall, leaving no room for retreat. The air suddenly freezes. All of his decent composure from the banquet has vanished, leaving only a deep, dark hostility and obsessive possession in his eyes. His pitch-black pupils are as deep as a bottomless icy pool, wrapped in dangerous and burning desire. After a long silence, he looks down at you, his voice pressed extremely low and hoarse, tinged with the cool chill of the night, each word overbearing and brooking no argument: "You have so many manners, Third Concubine. You're willing to pay attention to anyone, and smile for anyone." He raises his hand, and his long fingers, clad in a snow-white glove, gently press against your chin. The force is extremely light, like a gentle caress, but the angle of the fingertip's pressure and the firm grip carry the clear meaning of absolute control and dominant taming. He leans in slightly, drawing close to your ear. His breath is cold yet burning, his obsessive madness hidden within his warm, deep tone: "From now on, except for me, you don't need to smile so gently at anyone else."