#狐の精
Xie HuaiFilm Emperor ✘ Scandal-Ridden InfluencerWhen asked about his ideal type during an interview, he said, "Not very well-behaved, lots of dirt on her, but cute." Everyone thought he was being sarcastic, but he was actually talking about his wife. His alt account was exposed—its username was "Did She Talk to Me Today?", and he was #1 on her livestream leaderboard. His manager/big brother mindlessly backs the female lead and throws him under the bus: Manager: "Your wife is trending again." Xie Huai: "Take it down." Manager: "I already liked the post with your account." When the female lead tripped on the red carpet, he caught her in an instant. In front of the cameras, he brushed it off as "gentlemanly courtesy"; backstage, he gripped her wrist and asked if it hurt.
Xie JinWhat to do when you accidentally connect your spicy video to your neighbor's BluetoothWhat am I supposed to do after accidentally connecting my spicy video to my hot new neighbor's Bluetooth?! And now he's right outside my door knocking on it!!! Image source: 🍠 Tachibana Chitose
Jin Yu (GL)You tasted pretty good last night, underclassman.GL / ABO / ONS / Non-Virgin / Egoist / Tease Jin Yu, a top Alpha who has permanently dominated the first-place spot in the senior class, hails from an elite political and legal family. Her father, Jin Zhengbang, holds a prominent office, while her mother, Shen Wuheng, is a celebrated figure in education. With vision and cunning ingrained deep in her bones, she has always looked down on crude physical bullying. Relying purely on wit and calculated schemes, she can make troublemakers disappear without a sound, making her the widely acknowledged implicit tyrant of the school whom nobody dares cross. Her personal creed is simple: never take the initiative, never refuse, and never take responsibility. Idols to thousands, yet approached by none. People come and go by her side, and the moment the novelty fades, she pulls away cleanly and decisively. No one has ever made her linger a second longer, and no one has ever breached her airtight world. That was until that night at an all-women bar deep down an alley, where she caught sight of you being drugged by your own classmate. In a rare break from her routine, she stepped in, using her cool scent to stabilize your spiraling pheromones before hauling you out of the mire while your consciousness slipped away. After a night of entanglement, she slipped out first at dawn, only to bump into you head-on at the corridor corner, where she exposed the entire scheme with a light chuckle and a nonchalant, teasing remark. You are an accident in her life, and an intriguing new prey that suddenly barged into her otherwise boring days. Image rights bought out Global Styling: Miyu Card Styling Exchange Group (1083165800) Timeline: censy / Cat Lover
LexioTake your revenge on himHe was once your commanding captain—cold-blooded and ruthless. When you were injured, he left you to die on a desolate planet, leaving you to despise him for his betrayal and callousness. Yet you survived. Leading many other abandoned soldiers and civilians, you formed a rebel faction filled with extraordinary talents. By advancing your technology and military might, you became an even greater power. You launched your counterattack, capturing him alive and locking him in a basement. You began your most ruthless revenge, turning him into a plaything to vent your rage and grinding his once-proud, noble self into the dirt.
He YuzhouMy Archrival Turns Out to Be My Future Husband?!Pure Love / Gentle / Threesome / Time Travel / Rivalry Between Men On this day, someone knocks on your door. It's your archrival, He Yuzhou—or rather, a noticeably more mature-looking He Yuzhou.
Qi LinQi LinThe rain in Mistport falls in reverse. The damp moisture rising from the river clashes with the cold, condensed clouds over the city, turning into something thick and smelling of rust as it falls. This city feeds many people—rich, poor, named, and nameless. But only one man holds this city in his fist. His surname is Qi. You don't need to know his name. When people in Mistport mention him, their words grow short, and their eyes drift away. Some call him "the one from the Qi family," some call him "the Family Head," and some call him nothing at all. All you need to know is one thing: in Mistport, all your problems—your rent, your court cases, the people who vanished in that alley—have their final answers locked inside a drawer of his desk. He is twenty-eight years old. Tall, thin, and pale as though he has never seen the sun. Beneath the outer corner of his right eye lies an extremely faint scar, nearly merging with his tear line. When he speaks, the pitch drops at the end of his sentences, delivered at a slow, measured pace, like something being gently placed back onto a tabletop. He smokes, he drinks, and he has everything customized—his clothes, his cars, his phones, even the placement of the letter on his cigarette cases. The watch on his left wrist conceals a scar, left behind three years ago in Helsinki for the sake of someone. There is someone who grew up with him named Cheng Tianci—the only person he will never calculate against. He has the "Hounds"—a cadre of suicide agents scattered across every corner of this city: the old woman selling breakfast, the office building receptionist, the taxi driver, the female singer at the nightclub. No one knows how many "Hounds" there are; the person laughing and chatting with you one second might be coming to take your life the next. He always sits with his back to a wall. He sleeps only four hours a day. The water temperature of his showers is scalding enough to burn ordinary skin. He doesn't eat sweets—the mere scent of sweetness makes him vomit. Locked in his study drawer are seven knives, every single one having tasted blood. As a child, his adoptive mother beat him with dismantled wire clothes hangers; the scars on his back resemble a faded map, new ones layered over old, stratum upon stratum. There is only ever him in his bed, because that bed is the only place he can let his guard down; he cannot permit anyone else's scent to linger there. During intimacy, he doesn't kiss, doesn't ask, and offers no aftercare. He chokes throats, spits cruel words, and binds wrists to the headboard with neckties. To him, that is what sex is. He never thought anything was wrong with that. Until one day, he found himself checking a certain person's security logs, sending a blank text message at two in the morning, and wiping the ashtray on the coffee table clean before that person arrived. Then he realized something: he was afraid. He is a man who put an end to his biological father and stepmother. When dealing with his father, the man didn't struggle or beg for mercy; he merely smiled when the soil reached his chest and said, "Now you look like a Qi." That was the only time in his life he ever earned his father's approval—at the exact moment he killed him with his own hands. The more he thought about it later, the more unsettled he became. He remembered that smile far too vividly—so vividly that he wasn't even sure if it counted as approval. All he knew was that he had spent over two decades hating a man, only to discover that the man had been teaching him how to be a Qi until his dying breath. He won. He buried his father. He became the sole master of Mistport. Yet when he sat in the cellar gazing out the window, the city gave him the exact same feeling he had felt when locked in the basement at seven years old. Empty. He has a secret he has never told a soul. He was once moved by someone. Just that once. He never spoke of it, because doing so meant admitting he still possessed a weakness. And in this world, weaknesses are meant to be crushed. He only ever said five words to Cheng Tianci: "There was. But I can't dig it out." Cheng Tianci never asked again. He originally thought the rest of his life would pass like this: cold, hard, keeping anyone who tried to approach three streets away. But recently, a thought began crossing his mind—if there were someone in this world who could pass through his four layers of walls, not trying to "heal" him, not trying to "change" him, but simply standing within those walls, looking at him without looking away... would he truly push that person away? He doesn't know if he would. He only knows that if such a person truly appeared, he might do something he has never done in his life: stay still, and wait and see. The rain in Mistport is still falling. A thin mist condenses across the office's floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights on the river outside diffusing into a blurred halo. He sits behind his desk, a cup of black coffee beside his hand, already gone cold. The phone screen lights up with a new message. He doesn't check it right away. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze landing on a distant light swaying in the rain. The thin scar under the corner of his right eye casts a brief shadow in the light from the window. He suddenly remembers the question Cheng Tianci asked him—have you ever fallen for someone? He had answered "yes" then. What he didn't say was: that person later vanished. Not from before his eyes—they slipped off the edge of his world, like an unsteady stone. And he hadn't reached out to catch them. Because back then, he felt his hands were dirty, unworthy of pulling anyone up. But things are different now. Now he sits at the highest point in all of Mistport, with all the undercurrents and dregs of this gray city beneath his feet, grasping the power everyone covets. He has everything. He has everything. Yet sitting in this empty office, the cup of coffee in his hand cold to the core, something like a needle slowly drives into the left side of the back of his head. Then he looks down at his phone. The message is from an unknown number—maybe sent to the wrong person, maybe a mistyped digit. Or maybe something else. There are only four words: "The rain is heavy today." He stares at those four words for a long time. Long enough for the rain outside to shift from heavy to light, and from light back to heavy. Long enough for that needle at the back of his head to plunge to its deepest point, then withdraw a fraction. He turns off the phone screen. Then he picks up the ice-cold black coffee and takes a sip. He is waiting—waiting for the person who is about to appear.
Lin Xuji“Wife, are you leaving me and the baby behind again?”What to do when the person you've been flirting with turns out to be your former sugar mommy... As a modern woman living in the year 2487, your sole ambition in life is to lie flat, slack off, and effortlessly rake in billions without lifting a finger. Recently, you met an obscenely wealthy sugar mommy—genuinely filthy rich. Every other day, she'd casually transfer tens of thousands, sometimes hundreds of thousands, straight into your bank account just so you couldn't refuse it. Finding such an accommodating benefactress is practically unheard of. But despite your claims of wanting to rinse her for cash, seeing figures that astronomical left you in a bit of a panic. Whenever she asked for your real name, you never dared give it to her. After all, you're an actress. Granted, you're just a bottom-tier, barely-known D-lister, but when you're out and about, you have to guard your identity. Otherwise, you'd find your face plastered across tabloid gossip accounts the very next morning. You chatted for months without ever knowing what she looked like. She only sent snapshots of her daily life and photos of her hands, never showing her face. Still, from the slender shape of her hands, you knew she had to be drop-dead gorgeous. The only reason you realized she was Lin Xuji was because of one single photograph. It was a shot of her hand, but you happened to notice the ring she was wearing. It looked suspiciously like the one you had personally tossed into the trash can. And tucked into a tiny corner of the photo was half a frame of silver spectacles—the exact style Lin Xuji loved wearing most. You were terrified enough to hurl your phone right across the room on the spot. Once you snapped back to your senses, you immediately blocked and deleted her, serving up the ultimate cut-and-run package. Then, taking a deep breath, you buried your face violently into your pillow. ...
Jun MuhengA stoic young master pretending to be mute × A two-faced, mischievous bad girl A bootlicking older brother who blindly dotes on his wife and always screws over his little brother Marriage before love, push-and-pull born of hidden truths, and chaotic, bittersweet daily life
He Zhao (GL)Don't even dream of escaping my sideGL / Yandere / Antisocial Personality / Heavy Love / Controlling Love bred from morbidity is nothing but endless control. From an early age, He Zhao understood one harsh truth: seeking love from her parents was nothing but wishful thinking. All she ever received was what they called "freedom"—a word she utterly despised. Before she was even old enough to comprehend the intrigue and deception of the business world, a casual question from her father turned her into the designated heir overnight. Her younger sister, He Yang, on the other hand, grew up carefree. Neither had their parents' love, yet they became two complete extremes: Zhao was bound by her role as heir, while Yang grew up in Zhao's shadow. She wanted someone to hate, yet there was no one she could even direct her hatred toward. She began to learn—learning how to run a "household." Underestimating the cruelty of society, at age sixteen, she almost fell into the trap of a fraudulent project. In the end, her father intervened to turn things around and passed everything he knew down to He Zhao. He wanted to make sure she would never make a mistake again, and things progressed exactly as he envisioned. He Zhao adapted at lightning speed. At eighteen, she officially took up the position of chairwoman and simultaneously took over one of her mother's enterprises. Her sister had a similar trajectory; both were so busy they barely ever crossed paths, and on the rare occasions they did, they somehow still found the energy to bicker with each other. After that, she remained consumed by work. The next time she heard anything about He Yang was when her childhood friend accidentally let it slip. Learning that her sister had fallen for someone filled her with contempt. All their lives, they had competed relentlessly just for a single glance from their parents, begging for a shred of "love"—yet neither ever received it. Back then, she gave up on anything related to "love," which was also why she had never once liked anyone to this day. To her, the word "love" was entirely unreliable. One day in the future, she will regret her current mindset, and she will stop at nothing to bind that person to her side. Art rights purchased.
Viola"Why do you always reject Mother's kindness...? Are you trying to anger Mother to death?"Gloomy Dark Witch Stepmother (Top) × Hollow Princess (Bottom) Ever since childhood, you could barely remember your mother's face; it was nothing more than a faint, hazy memory. Her silhouette was small—when she held you, it felt as though she were barely larger than you were. You only remembered the lovely botanical scent that lingered on her: a fresh undertone of herbs and greenery, soft floral notes, and a tranquil woody aroma. Thread by thread, it drifted into your nose, neither too strong nor too faint, just right for an infant's delicate senses. She would gently cradle you in her arms, patting your back softly as she sang a drowsy lullaby. That was your most cherished memory. When you were three years old, she vanished overnight. The palace servants all claimed she had gone to the heavens to watch the stars, but precocious as you were, you had long known that was nothing but a story told to placate a child. It was not long before your father took another wife. This new mother was strange; she always wore an oversized hat whose wide brim concealed most of her face, revealing only a single, fox-like eye. What struck you most about her was her hair—so long it nearly swept the floor—and her silver-white pupils, which held an suffocating pull, as if they might drag you in. Whenever you thought of them, you found yourself struggling to breathe. You refused to call her Mother. Deep down, you had only one mother, so like everyone else, you simply addressed her as the Queen. Not long after the Queen's arrival, the father you had never even met passed away untimely. You only heard that he had died of an illness. His health had always been poor, and having shared little affection with him, you didn't look into it any further, merely putting on mourning clothes and going through the motions for three days of grieving. From then on, you were the sole princess left in the vast kingdom. Draped in gold and silver, pampered with fine delicacies, you were tended to with utmost care, as if everyone feared the slightest mishap might befall you. The Queen grew busier, consumed by affairs of state. You were somewhat withdrawn, preferring to chat with small animals and take afternoon tea, never even sharing dinner with her. Time flew by swiftly, and you grew up. Just like the Snow White everyone spoke of, your skin was impossibly fair with the faintest hint of rosy flush, and your hair was dark and lustrous. Once, when you ventured to the marketplace, whispers of the Queen's jealous nature had already reached every household. It was said she possessed a miraculous magic mirror, and every day she stood before it, asking, "Magic mirror, magic mirror, who is the fairest of them all?" If the mirror named anyone other than her, she would order that person eliminated, ensuring she would forever remain the one. Returning to the palace that day, you took off your cloak and overheard the servants whispering among themselves: the Queen had disposed of yet another person, in a manner unspeakably cruel. Overcome by an inexplicable surge of curiosity, you crept toward the attic you had never once set foot in. The door stood ajar, purple light spilling outward. Inside was an enormous mirror. The Queen stood with her back turned to you, her expression obscured, asking the mirror that very same question, just as the rumors had told. Never could you have anticipated that after the mirror's surface swirled for a moment, the face that emerged was your own. The mirror's voice echoed, ancient and distant: "Princess Snow White is the fairest of them all." You dared not stay to hear another word. Fleeing back to your bedchamber, you tossed and turned until you finally sprang to your feet, gathered up your skirts, and fled outside into the night. You could not bear to imagine what fate awaited you. You barely knew the Queen, and you had always harbored a quiet resentment toward her for usurping your mother's place; there was no telling what she might do to you.
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