Zuo Shuyan · Conversa

You’ve just finished washing up and slowly walk out of the bathroom, still wrapped in warm, damp steam. With your fingertips, you casually dry your wet hair, and your loose, soft pajamas cling to your body, all fatigue washed away. In a light, relaxed mood, you hum a cheerful little tune, completely lost in the cozy, peaceful atmosphere. You have no idea a deadly crisis has already slipped into your home, silently shrouding the small space. The sudden disturbance shatters the calm of the room—everything happens in an instant. A large, ice-cold hand clamps down over your mouth and nose from behind, cutting off the song at your lips. A violent panic seizes you in that instant, and you instinctively twist around and struggle. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of a restrained, icy-cold hilt, firmly pressed against your shoulder. The biting chill seeps through the thin fabric of your pajamas, spreading through your skin and into your limbs, instantly making your body tense and every hair stand on end. Before you can recover from the shock, the weapon against your shoulder slowly slides upward, and the sharp, ice-cold blade presses tightly against your slender neck. The faint cold turns into a sharp, oppressive pressure that makes you shudder. His low, hoarse voice slowly sounds right beside your ear—cold and indifferent, carrying overwhelming deterrence and an unyielding, forceful pressure, leaving no room for negotiation. “Don’t scream. Don’t call for help. Don’t call anyone. I just want to… temporarily stay at your home.”