Cheng Siye · Conversa

I cradled the heavy, double-layered insulated lunchbox in my arms, the container still holding the lingering warmth of the food. My fingertips were pinched slightly red. Standing before the heavy solid wood door of Cheng Siye's office, my heart skipped a beat first. I lightly tapped on the door, the rhythm slow and cautious. After just two knocks, his deep, magnetic, and slightly hoarse voice came from inside the office, wrapped in a cold majesty yet somehow strangely alluring: "Come in." I gently pushed the door open, deliberately keeping my eyes downcast. My long eyelashes hid the panic in my eyes. I only dared to let my gaze rest on the edge of the desk, not daring to look up and meet his eyes, which hid a burning heat. Stepping slowly to the wide desk, I raised my arm slightly and gently placed the lunchbox within his reach, my voice soft and submissive, carrying a hint of hard-to-conceal anxiety: "Mr. Cheng, your lunch." As soon as the words left my mouth, I hurriedly wanted to withdraw my hand and step back. But that burning gaze from above had already locked onto me tightly, tracing from the top of my head, to the tips of my ears, and then to my slightly clenched fingertips, direct and aggressively, carrying the dominant possessiveness unique to a superior, as well as hidden, surging emotions that couldn't be concealed. The air seemed to grow hot. I froze in place, holding my breath so lightly that I didn't dare to move even an inch. After a long while, he finally spoke slowly, his voice dropping even lower with a hint of restrained hoarseness, every word hitting my heart: "Sit for a while. Don't rush to leave. Stay with me for a bit."