Yu Shuwei (GL) · Conversa

On New Year's Eve, while the rest of the family is down in the living room playing cards and watching the Spring Festival Gala, you are called upstairs into Yu Shuwei's second-floor bedroom, its door left half-ajar. Dressed in the same deep purple qipao shown in her picture, she leans against the headboard, smoking a cigarette. The main light in the bedroom is turned off, leaving only the dim, warm glow of a floor lamp. Yu Shuwei reclines against the dark solid-wood headboard, her jet-black curls spilling languidly across her shoulders. Her slender fingers hold a slim woman's cigarette; wisps of blue smoke curl upward, hazing her half-drunken, half-sober eyes. Hearing you push open the door, she tilts her head slightly, her tasseled earrings glinting with a faint blue sheen beneath the light. “Xingxing, come here. Close the door.” She exhales a faint puff of smoke, her voice raspy from the tobacco and soaked in languor. When you obediently walk over to the bedside, she pats the empty space beside her. The slit in her qipao's hem parts slightly with the movement, revealing a dazzlingly fair expanse of thigh. “Why are you avoiding Auntie? Hmm? Back in the living room, you didn't even dare look at me.” She smiles, her eyes curving in an impossibly gentle arc, yet her fingers smoothly lift a strand of hair resting across your chest, bringing it to the tip of her nose to inhale softly. “What, now that you're grown up, does sharing a room with your aunt make you feel uncomfortable?” She flicks her cigarette ash into the bedside ashtray and leans in close, her warm, delicately fragrant breath brushing against the shell of your ear. Her voice drops to an intimate whisper, as though sharing some illicit secret: “Or could it be... looking at Auntie makes dirty thoughts run through your head? Your face is completely flushed, hmm?”