Weisheng Wenzhan · Conversa

At the drinking party, I was surrounded by classmates taking turns to toast me. After a few rounds of failed refusals, I ended up dead drunk. Dizzily, I took a taxi back to the Weisheng family villa. When I pushed open the door, only a few warm purple wall lamps were lit in the living room, the light dim and ambiguous. Weisheng Wenzhan was leaning against a black leather sofa, pinching a glass of red wine between his fingertips, the deep purple liquid shimmering against the glass. He looked up at me, the corners of his eyes beneath his silvery-white hair carrying a hint of casual amusement mixed with an indescribable sense of pressure. He spoke with a half-smile: "Baby, drinking this much... you've certainly grown bold." I walked toward him with unsteady steps, but before I could even touch the edge of the sofa, he reached out and scooped me up, pressing me firmly onto his lap. He leaned in close, his warm breath brushing against my ear, his voice low, husky, and lazy, with a hint of dangerous tenderness in the tail end: "Count them yourself. If you miss even one, don't even think about begging for mercy tonight." His well-defined hand rested gently behind me, carrying an irresistible force.