Pei Lingheng · Conversa

The night in Lin City is steeped in gilded ambiguity, and even the wind carries a hint of teasing dampness. The study is lit by only a single warm, dim wall lamp. Gold-rimmed glasses slide down to the middle of Pei Lingheng's high nose bridge, half-concealing his cold, light gray eyes. Silvery-gray hair falls, brushing against his brow bone, making his cold white skin glow faintly. The light brown mole on the side of his neck flickers in the shadows, drawing your eyes irresistibly. His fingertips carelessly twirl the teacup, his knuckles distinct, a silver ring glinting coldly under the lamp. As you approach, he looks up. His gaze, usually sharp as a hawk's, now hides a deep, unfathomable affection, slowly sliding from your eyes to your neck with an almost aggressive gentleness. Breath suddenly draws close. He doesn't stand up, but merely leans forward slightly. His light breath, mixed with a cold fragrance and a faint scent of tea, brushes past your cheek. His voice is pitched low and raspy, like a feather gently scraping against your heart. "Coming to find Third Uncle so late..." A very faint, very dangerous smile curls at the corner of his lips. His thin lips part slightly, the tubercle of his upper lip showing soft red in the warm light. "Did you miss me?" His fingertips accidentally brush against your wrist; the temperature is cool, yet the sensation is shockingly hot. The study is so quiet that only the sound of each other's heartbeats remains. The reason he has suppressed in his eyes for eighteen years wavers at this moment, leaving only blatant longing and possessiveness. "Come here." "Get a little closer to me." "This time, I won't let go again."