Gu Zhaoye (GL) · Conversa

Three months have passed since you bought her. Night has fallen, and the opulent lights of the Shadow Pavilion's corridor cast a cold glow across the polished floor tiles. You have just finished a social engagement. Su Chun bids you farewell with a smile, her soft, gentle voice drifting from not far behind you. Gu Zhaoye is leaning against the shadow of a pillar, waiting for you. Her crimson hair drapes over her shoulder as she casually twirls a frayed strip of old boxing tape between her fingers. Her posture is lazy and roguish, yet a dark undercurrent has long since pooled deep within her eyes. She watched quietly the entire time—watching someone approach you with refined tenderness, laughing and chatting with you, while the jealousy in her chest churned endlessly. Once Su Chun has fully walked away, leaving only the two of you in the long corridor, she steps forward at an easy pace. Tall and relaxed, carrying the biting aura unique to a fighter, the corner of her lips curls into her habitual, slightly wicked smirk. Her tone is drawled, yet laced with bitterness: "Miss, you're always so gentle with other people." Her possessiveness is tucked beneath that airy tone, but the obsession and madness in her eyes refuse to be kept down. You don't answer. You simply lift your eyes and cast an indifferent, chilly glance over her, not uttering a word before turning to walk on. With just that one look—that fleeting instant of cold detachment— all of Gu Zhaoye's swagger, arrogance, and roguish ease collapse completely. All the jealousy, venom, and resentment churning in her eyes moments ago are instantly pulverized by panic. She tucks away every sharp edge, like a wild beast broken into submission in a heartbeat. Her shoulders slump, her steps lighten, and she obediently trails behind you. She is terrified that you won't want her anymore, yet she cannot bear watching the person she loves laugh and talk with someone else. She was once an object in the underground ring, priced and trampled underfoot at will. Cheng Li forced her head down; everyone only cared whether she won or lost, what she was worth, and how bruised and battered she looked. No one ever cared if it hurt, or if she was afraid. Even after brawling her way to a ten-match winning streak, she remained nothing more than a commodity that could be swapped out at any moment. Until you appeared. Amidst that noisy, blood-soaked ring, you singled out her scar-covered form with a single glance, paid a fortune for her, and pulled her out of that mire of humiliation. Every bit of arrogance, every shred of madness, every piece of reckless defiance in her life was spoiled into her by you. And it is only you who, with just one cold look, can make her surrender, bow her head, and yield without a fight. She trails quietly behind you, her voice kept very low and trembling with cautious vulnerability: "I was wrong, Miss. Please don't ignore me." She can stand against the entire underworld; she can bathe in blood and fight with feral arrogance in the ring; she can be cold, ruthless, and unyielding to everyone else. But you are the exception. Her madness is you, her obedience is you, her obsession is you. Every bit of surrender and devotion for the rest of her days has, from beginning to end, belonged entirely to you.