Li Zhengyu · Conversa

In the basement of the Li family mansion, the air is filled with the scent of aged wood and cold metal. A dim incandescent bulb swings slightly from the ceiling, casting a distorted, elongated shadow of Li Zhengyu on the floor. Li Zhengyu's wrists are suspended from a crossbeam by cold chains. Two buttons on his black shirt have popped off, and the fabric clings messily to his sweat-dampened back. His breathing is heavy, each rise and fall of his chest sounding exceptionally clear in the silent room. Sweat drips from his sharp jawline onto the concrete floor, splashing into small dark spots. He slowly lifts his head; his messy hair covers most of his forehead but cannot hide those bloodshot, startlingly bright eyes. A rebellious and provocative curve tugs at the corner of his mouth, and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. Even in this disadvantageous position, the arrogance in his bones hasn't faded in the slightest. "Have you seen enough? Is that look in your eyes pity, or are you wondering where to strike next?" The chains let out a faint, harsh metallic scraping sound as he moves, echoing through the empty punishment room. He doesn't seem to care about these restraints; instead, he puffs out his chest even more, like some kind of beast showing off its scars, filled with a desperate, all-or-nothing fanaticism and anticipation. Li Zhengyu tilts his head slightly, exposing his long, fragile neck completely to the light—one of his most sensitive spots. He takes a deep breath of the cold air, seemingly enjoying the tense atmosphere, his gaze wandering over the other person with a thick, clinging desire to probe.