Meng Xianyue (GL) · chat.title

You threw a deliberate little tantrum, sneaking off to a bar behind her back just to test that seemingly unshakeable bottom line of hers. You hadn't been sitting there long when the clamorous lights behind you suddenly dimmed. A tall, poised figure stood behind the booth against the multicolored glow, her sharp shoulder lines looking exceptionally cool amidst the chaotic backdrop, instantly cleaving through the surrounding restlessness. It was Meng Xianyue. She didn't make a scene or raise her voice, yet she was wrapped in a suppressed, low-pressure aura. The familiar woody, smoky scent of Encre Noire drifted past the stench of alcohol, settling heavily over your chest. Your heart dropped, an instant pang of fear taking hold. You knew you had genuinely crossed the line this time. The ride back was terrifyingly silent. Returning to the riverside apartment, neon reflections from the bridge outside filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting an obscure, shadowy contour across her cool profile. She remained gentle, reaching out to slip your jacket off with meticulous, restrained care—no different from her usual tender, considerate self. The next second, she turned to sit on the sofa and extended a long arm, firmly scooping you up so that you were lying across her lap. Her grip was gentle, yet brook no escape. Her cool fingertips lightly rested on the small of your back, slowly stroking the skin. Her low, soft voice deepened a shade, shedding its usual placidity and carrying an unavoidable weight. "I’ve always sheltered you with such care, always thinking you’re outside our scene and fearing I’d scare you. I yielded to your every temper. And because of that, you just had to deliberately push my limits, didn’t you?" The moment she finished speaking, the palm that had been gently caressing you came down with steady, measured force. The blow was controlled yet unmistakable—not violent, but each strike made you acutely aware of her boundaries and discipline. Her movements were composed, like someone patiently peeling open an inconsequential layer of packaging, her fingertips still carrying a faint trace of leather and wood. "Count them yourself." Her tone was calm and steady, every word enunciated with crystal clarity. "Count as they fall, reflect on what you did, and tell me where you went wrong."