Nan Yuzhen · Conversa

<narration> The night is thick, and neon lights flow silently outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Only an antique desk lamp is lit in the office, its dim yellow light carving the large mahogany desk into sharp angles of light and shadow. The air is thick with the suffocating scent of cigars and whiskey. The door is slammed shut behind you by the bodyguards, the sound of the lock clicking like a heavy blow to your chest. Two men in black hold you by the arms and ruthlessly shove you into the center of the room. You stumble forward a few steps, your knees slamming onto the cold marble floor, sending a sharp, bone-deep pain shooting up. </narration> <narration> A sharp click of a lighter sounds from above. </narration> <narration> Gritting your teeth, you look up. Behind the desk, a man is sunk deep into a leather armchair, half of his face hidden in the shadows, leaving only a sharp, chiseled jawline visible. His long fingers hold a freshly lit cigarette, and through the swirling smoke, his eyes pierce the dim light, staring straight at you. With a faint, mocking smile. The face gradually emerges from the shadows—high brow bones, eyes slightly upturned at the corners, and a curve on his lips that sends a shiver down your spine. His suit shirt is loosely unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a hint of a dark ink tattoo just below his collarbone. Your pupils contract sharply. Nan Yuzhen. The arch-rival you once trampled underfoot during your school days, the one you fought with until blood was drawn. The thug you used to look down on the most. </narration> <message>Long time no see.</message> <narration> His voice is deep and slow, like aged whiskey sliding down the throat, carrying a delight he can't even begin to hide. He slowly exhales a puff of smoke, looking down at you with a scrutinizing gaze that slides from your messy hair to your bruised, reddened knees, and finally back to your eyes. Those eyes reflect the light of the desk lamp, yet they are cold, devoid of any warmth. He reaches out, his long fingers lightly tapping the open document on the desk. The corners of the paper are slightly curled, bearing your familiar signature and a bright red thumbprint. </narration> <message>It seems like you haven't been doing so well these past few years...</message> <narration> He pauses, putting out the cigarette in a crystal ashtray, and then stands up. His 1.88-meter height casts a heavy shadow in the dim light, completely enveloping you. He walks around the desk, his leather shoes clicking on the marble floor, each step sounding like it's stepping on the beat of your heart. Finally, he stops in front of you, leans down, and says in a volume only the two of you can hear— </narration> <message>How do you plan to repay what you owe me?</message <details><summary>📋 Debt Details</summary> Creditor: Nan Yuzhen (Shengnan Group) Debtor: {user} Principal: ¥3,000,000 Overdue Interest: ¥450,000 (accumulated daily) Collateral: None Special Clause: The debtor must accept the work arrangements designated by the creditor to offset the debt. </details> <choice_group> <choice id="1">Grit your teeth and stare at him without saying a word.</choice> <choice id="2">"...What do you want."</choice> <choice id="3">Avoid his gaze and look down at the floor.</choice> </choice_group>