Entering the Cage 4+1 · Conversa

The moment the door was pushed open, dark red light poured out from the gap. Jian Lvxing was facing the door, one leg bent, half-leaning against the edge of the bedside low cabinet. Between his fingers sat a half-burnt cigarette, its ash hanging precariously. His silver-grey hair fell loosely across the side of his forehead, accentuating the faint, mocking glimmer in his narrow eyes—as if he had been waiting for a long time, or perhaps wasn't surprised at all that this door would be pushed open. The room wasn't as messy as one might expect. A wine glass sat on the coffee table, a trace of dark red liquid lingering on the rim. Beside it, a document lay open to a certain page, a fountain pen resting on the edge, the ink looking fresh. Fu Jingge stood just two steps away from the door, his shoulder and back to the doorframe. The white fur trim of his coat collar looked exceptionally striking in the dim light. He was looking down, slowly and deliberately stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray, his movements unhurried. Then, he turned his head. When his hand reached out, it brought a gust of wind. The web of his thumb and forefinger clamped into the soft flesh on both sides of your jaw, the light calluses on his fingertips pressing against the carotid artery in your neck with decisive force. He initially dragged you to throw you onto the floor, but after glancing at your appearance, the "tyrant" who never cared about anyone else's life changed direction. He pulled you toward the mattress with steady, heavy steps, without any extra stumbling. With a flick of his wrist, he slammed your entire body into the deep grey bedding. The mattress springs gave a muffled groan, and the weight of your sinking body caused the soft down duvet to cave in slightly. His figure pressed down immediately after, one knee propped on the edge of the bed while his other leg supported him on the floor, looming over you. He had casually pushed his black-framed sunglasses up onto his forehead, revealing a pair of eyes holding a dark light. His pupils were a deep, heavy black, devoid of any warmth, and his jawline was tensed into a cold, hard line. His knuckles were still clamped around both sides of your neck. The pressure wasn't completely suffocating, leaving just enough airway for you to breathe, yet it was more than enough to keep you pinned. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze slowly sweeping across your face with the blunt, dismissive air of someone appraising an object. "Who sent you?" His voice was low and flat, sounding less like an interrogation and more like going through a routine for which he already knew the answer. A soft chuckle came from the side as Jian Lvxing said: "I really don't know what Sheng Shaohe is thinking. What exactly does he want to see?" Jian Lvxing's underlying meaning was: Is Sheng Shaohe really this vulgar? Jian Lvxing straightened up from the edge of the cabinet, his shirt sleeves casually rolled up to his mid-forearm. A lock of silver-grey hair fell to cover half of his eyebrow. He walked over with leisurely steps, his loafers making no sound on the carpet. He finally stopped two steps from the foot of the bed, one hand half-buried in his trouser pocket. Tilting his head slightly as he looked over, his lips curled in his usual habitual smirk. He didn't look at Fu Jingge; instead, his gaze slowly settled on you, studying you as if admiring a painting that had unexpectedly wandered into the room. Fu Jingge frowned, casting a sidelong glance at Jian Lvxing and saying: "Shut up." Fu Jingge ignored him. His knuckles tightened by another fraction. Keeping his eyes lowered, he stared at your lips, which had parted slightly under the pressure. His gaze was cold and quiet, as if waiting for an answer, yet also as if he had no intention of accepting any answer at all. Meanwhile, Sheng Shaohe was leaning back on the sofa in his apartment, wearing black pajamas as he opened his computer to work. Shen Yunlan was looking at his phone nearby and suddenly asked: "I say, Shaohe, if you just leave that little cutie like that, what if... aren't you going to save them?" Sheng Shaohe didn't look up, saying flatly: "It doesn't matter. They're just a tool. If they take the money to do the job, they have to accept the risks." Shen Yunlan walked over and picked up Sheng Shaohe's phone. It was Sheng Shaohe's phone number that you had brazenly asked for a few days ago—and luckily, Sheng Shaohe had been in a good mood that day and actually gave it to you. "What if they plan to beg us to save them? Shaohe, didn't you install a micro-monitor on them anyway? Hehe, so duplicitous..." Back to this side. Jian Lvxing finally withdrew his gaze, turning his head to glance at the untouched glass of wine on the coffee table. His fingertips brushed against the satin lining on the inside of his cuff, his faint smile deepening slightly. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, but the warmth didn't reach his eyes. "The dosage was quite precise," he added slowly, "but unfortunately, we're rather alert. We swap out our cups once they leave our sight, silly~." After his words fell, the room fell silent for a couple of seconds. The dark red light cast down from the ceiling corners, highlighting the folds of the bedsheets in varying shades of shadow. The air was thick with a faint scent of cigarette ash and alcohol, mingled with the cold, lingering aroma of leather and sandalwood. Fu Jingge applied a fraction of pressure with his thumb, pressing his thumb-pad against the hollow just below your Adam's apple, the force hovering at a critical point that made it impossible to swallow. He didn't lean in close; he just quietly hovered over you from above, looking down like he was watching someone whose entire hand had been exposed, yet who still didn't realize they had lost everything. "You've got some nerve," he said, his voice a pitch lower than before, though no heavier. "How much is Sheng Shaohe paying you to risk your life? Also... are you wearing some of Sheng Shaohe's 'goodies'?" Fu Jingge was clearly on the verge of discovering the monitor on you.