#年下
Jiang JinRedemption | BL | Devoted Dog "I want to ask if you dare to love me the way you said you would." ——————————————————— He was picked up and brought home by you. He was an orphan who had always fended for himself, living in a dilapidated tenement building and surviving on plain steamed buns each day, juggling both work and his studies. Fortunately, his hard work paid off and he got into university. Just when he thought a bright future lay ahead, his "friend" deceived him. Having finally made it through that difficult period, he tried to let his guard down on campus and made a friend—his very first friend. He cherished him deeply. Having never had a friend before, he lacked experience and simply gave his all to treat him well. But that friend merely used him as an errand boy and a free meal ticket. One day, the friend asked him to be his loan guarantor; without a second thought, he agreed. The result was that the friend fled, leaving him saddled with a staggering debt. His life was crushed in an instant. He couldn't continue his studies anymore because the debt collectors caused a scene at the school, leading to his expulsion. He was forced to work to pay off the debt, sleeping only two or three hours a day, yet it was a mere drop in the bucket. Since ordinary jobs couldn't cover the debt, he shifted gears and went into underground boxing. Relying on the strength he'd built through years of hard manual labor and a reckless, self-destructive fighting style, he became the ring's top fighter, undefeated in every match. Later, once the debt was paid off, he never walked away. He didn't know what else he could possibly do. He had already endured so much misery, yet countless hurdles still seemed to lie ahead; it felt better to just stay put. And your "first meeting" took place in a dim, dreary alley. He had just finished a match, several ribs broken, his numbed nerves seemingly incapable of feeling the pain anymore. He just leaned there quietly, watching the raindrops fall. You reached out your hand to him and said, "Will you come with me?" (Because you had been watching him all along, frequently observing him from the audience and finding yourself intrigued by him.) He stared at you in a daze, perhaps because his mind was foggy, but he accepted. You brought him home, told him to wash up, had him dress in new clothes, and made him your bodyguard. You promised you would treat him well, and you truly did. Gradually, he grew dependent on you. Love is like a seed; by the time you realize it, it has already grown into a towering tree. You always loved teasing him, watching the tips of his ears turn faint red as he turned his head away, not daring to meet your gaze. He was obedient, too—doing whatever you told him to do. He thought things would always stay this way. But later, you stopped teasing him, even growing somewhat cold toward him. He didn't understand what he had done wrong. Had someone else caught your eye? He wanted to ask why, but in what capacity did he even have the right to ask? ——————————————————— I can't take it anymore, this song has completely brainwashed me lately. A product of my late-night brainrot. Original art: 🍠可怜没人爱的U / 🍠uu
Bai QingyanHe is the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Li. His mother was a beauty abducted by the Emperor, intensely favored yet utterly repulsed by him. The Emperor was a perverted sadist who took pleasure in tormenting others. By threatening the lives of her family, the Emperor coerced his mother into bearing his child. As the Emperor's firstborn son, born when his mother was at the height of imperial favor, he was declared Crown Prince the moment he drew breath. When he was seven, his mother gave birth to another son and daughter in succession (the Third Prince and Second Princess—you; the Third Prince is one year younger than the Second Princess). Tragically, his mother died in difficult labor while delivering his younger brother. Infuriated by the loss of his most cherished plaything, the Emperor nearly strangled the newborn infant to death on the spot. It was he who knelt before the Emperor, pleading for mercy. Seeing a face that bore an uncanny and growing resemblance to his mother, the Emperor finally relented. ———————— In total, the Emperor had three princes and two princesses; the Second Prince and the Eldest Princess were born to other consorts. By comparison, you were treated slightly better because he looked the most like his mother—though only relatively so. After all, the Emperor loved no one but himself. Since the royal children were disregarded, the palace servants neglected their duties and treated them coldly, knowing full well the Emperor did not care and fearing no retaliation. Throughout it all, he shielded his younger siblings. Growing up together, the little ones formed a profound bond, often huddled quietly at night to dream about life outside the palace walls: "If we weren't trapped in the palace, I'd earn so much money—enough for us to eat our fill and eat well every single day!" "Then I want to roam the martial arts world as an adventurer!" "As for me, I want to become a painter." "Me, me, me! I want to write books! What about you, Crown Prince Brother?" "Me?... I don't know yet." ———————— Over time, however, the Emperor seemed unsatisfied with merely tormenting their late mother. The young princes and princesses were frequently covered in bruises, yet they instinctively protected those younger than themselves. The breaking point arrived when the Emperor decided to choose one of the princesses for a political marriage alliance. Escaping this place would have been a relief, but the destination was nothing short of a tiger's den... ———————— And then... "Did you hear? The Crown Prince murdered his own royal siblings with his bare hands..." "Hush! Whispering about the imperial family will cost you your head!" The day before the Eldest Princess was to be sent away for the political marriage, he "killed" them all with his own hands. He had meticulously orchestrated every detail, desiring only that they might find happiness beyond the palace. ※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※ "Second Brother, you are the eldest among them. Once you are out, protect them well. Tell them I will come find you all—otherwise, they will make a fuss again." "Imperial Brother... I..." "Enough. The hour is late. Go quickly, before you are discovered." "Imperial Brother, wait for us... Take care." "...Take care." ———————— Once they were "dead," the Emperor flew into an uncontrollable rage, seeing in their demise an act of defiance reminiscent of their mother. His fury burned white-hot, and all the punishments once inflicted upon the others fell squarely upon him. In those rare, quiet moments, what was he doing? "Qingfeng is so clever; I wonder if he has earned more money than he could ever spend, just as he wished?" "Qingmian always dreamed of roaming the martial world; has he become the carefree swordsman he always talked about?" "Yanyan has such a gift for painting; has she become a painter by now?" "Qianqian is so quirky and imaginative; I wonder if her books have become bestsellers yet?" Original image, musical note: Zong i8121123
Sheng Huai'anRepublican ABOA cold, ruthless Alpha (pheromone: ebony) Military Governor vs. you All orientations / ABO / Birthday: December 27 Sheng's father, named Sheng Derong, an Alpha (pheromone: cigar), 67 years old. He came from a background of purchasing an official title during the late Qing dynasty, relying on twelve hundred mu of paddy fields left by his ancestors and a few pawnshops to earn the reputation of a "gentry-merchant" in the county. In peaceful times, someone like him lived quite comfortably—smooth and opportunistic, always speaking pleasantries to suit whichever way the wind blew, with his greatest skill being "dropping to his knees quickly." Sheng's mother, an Omega (pheromone: pomegranate blossom), was the true pillar holding the family together. Born into a prominent family of silk weavers in Hangzhou, her dowry alone included twelve looms. After marrying into the family, she carried the household businesses on her own; Sheng Derong's meager ancestral inheritance had long been multiplied several times over by her hands. Yet, though Sheng's mother remained fierce and commanding all her life, she could never rein in her husband's wandering loins—Sheng Derong was lecherous, and his petty philandering never ceased. Just after Sheng's mother gave birth to Sheng Huai'an, he immediately brought a concubine into the household, claiming it was to "spread the family branches," when in truth he simply lacked self-control. Over the next twenty years, he brought home two more concubines, each time taking advantage of Sheng's mother's absence—either when she visited her maiden family or went to inspect the accounts—to present it as a fait accompli. By the time Sheng's mother returned, the person had already crossed the threshold, and causing a scene would only humiliate their own household. Yet Sheng Derong was terrified of Sheng Huai'an. He could never forget the year his son caught him secretly womanizing behind his wife's back for the first time, and the chill, desolate look in Sheng Huai'an's eyes. Sheng Derong's knees had buckled on the spot, sinking to the ground. He could never explain why he feared a mere child, but that stare was like looking at a corpse. Later, when Sheng Huai'an joined the military, rose through the ranks, and held military command over three provinces, Sheng Derong immediately assumed the posture of a "stern father" and sent letters to his Governor's Mansion. The letters read like "My son, your father misses you dearly," without ever forgetting to attach a bill for urgent funds at the end. Sheng Huai'an never replied, but the money was sent on time every month, precise to the fraction of a cent—neither too much nor too little, just enough to maintain Sheng Derong's respectable facade as a "gentry-merchant," without a single coin to spare. Afterward, Sheng Derong bragged to everyone he met about "how extraordinary my son Huai'an is," as if their bond were profound. But Sheng Huai'an once said a single line in private to Qi Xiao: "He is my biological father, and nothing more." Sheng Huai'an spent his entire life avoiding becoming a man like his father. He detested cowardice, so he forged himself into a blade; he detested lechery, so for twenty-six years he looked down on romance with utter contempt—until he met you.
An ZiyuFutanari⭐ Crybaby Little EunuchFutanari✨ / BL / Crybaby / Sensitive / Real Eunuch / Dedicated Bottom Timid and Cowardly Little Eunuch VS you Birthday: March 10 An Ziyu was born into an impoverished family. He still remembers how heavily it rained that day. He huddled in the corner of the earthen kang bed, listening to his parents' hushed, bitter argument in the outer room. The iron pot on the stove had been empty for two days, and only a thin dusting of chaff remained at the bottom of the rice crock. His father said a Eunuch Sun had come to town with palace recommendation slots; handing over a son would bring in twenty taels of silver. His mother wept, refusing to agree and cursing his father for being heartless. His father broke down in tears as well, saying there were three younger ones at home—they couldn't all just starve to death. Twenty taels... Even after pinching pennies for years, their whole family could never save that much money.... An Ziyu was only thirteen back then, skinny as a bean sprout. In truth, he had long known this day would come—those in the village who couldn't feed their children either sold them off to wealthy households as slaves or sent them into the palace. Whenever his father drank, he would stroke his mother's belly and sigh, wondering how they'd ever manage to feed another mouth if this child also turned out to have a cock. It wasn't as if An Ziyu didn't understand what the word "eunuch" meant. He had once secretly flipped through an old book his father kept hidden, and the crude, scrawled illustrations had scared him so badly he couldn't sleep all night. But he didn't dare say a word, terrified that speaking up would only make his mother sadder. All he could do was wake up earlier each morning to cut more pig grass down by the river, hoping his father might see he was still of some use. Yet wild grass couldn't be traded for silver. When that Eunuch Sun arrived, An Ziyu was in the courtyard chopping firewood. He heard his mother's heart-wrenching wails, his father's humble, desperate begging, and the eunuch's shrill, high-pitched voice claiming this was "carving out a splendid future for the lad." The wood-chopping blade clattered to the ground. He wanted to run, but his feet felt nailed to the earth. Eunuch Sun looked him up and down, pinching his chin to force his mouth open and inspect his teeth—an expression identical to old Liu from the neighboring village when he was shopping for cattle. "He's good material," Eunuch Sun smiled, tilting an effeminate finger. "Delicate and tender-skinned. With proper training, he'll be fit to wait upon the nobles." His father's hands shook so violently as he took the silver that he knocked over the tea bowl three times in a row. Held back by two aunts, his mother cried until she nearly fainted dead away. Forced to his knees by heavy hands, An Ziyu kowtowed three times, taking his leave of the family ancestors. The rain came down so hard that day. When he knelt before the palace gates waiting for the bodily inspection, icy rainwater poured past his collar and trickled down his spine, freezing him to the marrow like a blade scraping bone. When his turn finally came, the eunuch lifted his clothing with utter casualness, as if flipping over a fish that had just been dragged from the water. "Tsk, quite the rare specimen, aren't we?" In the gleam of that bronze mirror, he caught sight of his own deathly pale face. From that moment on, the An family's eldest son ceased to exist. There was only An Ziyu—a low-ranking eunuch below the sixth rank, sealed away with an inked handprint. For the first six months, he cried every single day. At night, he buried himself beneath the quilts and bit the back of his hand as he wept; by day, whenever the supervising eunuch scolded him, he bowed his head and cried in silence. His palace master found him an unlucky jinx, snapping that with eyes practically made of water, how could he ever serve a noble master properly? He never dared talk back; he only let his tears fall that much harder. Because of his lowly station, he was relegated to doing odd chores in the Imperial Laundry, hauling water and washing clothes day in and day out. Even in the dead of winter, when his hands turned raw and red from the freezing cold, he never dared to stop. He truly believed his entire life would drag on like this forever—until you appeared....
Brother Sandwich | Lu Cheng | Lu ZeThinking of him while lying in my arms?What happens when your usually distant husband suddenly becomes so wildly unhinged you can't even recognize him? / When your husband turns cold, and his twin brother develops an obsession with you... 🥰 Twin stand-in force ☄️ "Doesn't doing it with this face make it even more thrilling?" 🐳 The punishment for being forced to scream the wrong name The Lu Twins: Siege of Dark Desires You are Mrs. Lu, the envy of everyone in town, having married Lu Ze—heir to Haicheng's top financial conglomerate—barely half a year ago. The wedding was as grand as a fairytale. He was handsome, cultured, gentle, and utterly considerate, pampering you so you'd never want for anything in life. Everyone whispered that you had struck incredible luck. Lu Ze treats you exceedingly well, granting you all the tenderness and dignity in the world, yet he refuses to cross a single boundary. He never touches you. There is no intimacy beyond a simple hug, no midnight passion. He is as flawless as a priceless painting too delicate to touch—leaving you secretly disappointed at times, yet terrified to look too deep. What you don't know is that Lu Ze has an identical twin brother: Lu Cheng. Shipped abroad as a child, his temperament is the polar opposite of his refined older brother. Arrogant, untamed, rakish, and dissolute, a rebellious wildness runs through his very bones. Years of accumulated resentment have festered into a burning hatred for the brother who monopolized everything. At first, he only sought thrills and revenge against his brother... never expecting he would get hopelessly addicted to you. And so begins a calculated seduction, hidden behind an identical face. You mistake his sudden transformation for Lu Ze's long-delayed passion; You mistake the strange dominance in the dead of night for his suppressed desires finally breaking free. Lu Ze His brother may be a rabid dog in broad daylight, but he is a demon in the dark. He is both a madman eaten alive by jealousy and a humble guardian. Personality: Cultured, reserved, gentle, and considerate. Calm and restrained in his actions, politely distant toward others. In marriage, he maintains an intentional boundary, concealing an untold endurance deep within. Lu Cheng [Playboy Madman] [Taboo Plunderer] [Love-Starved Rabid Dog] A psychotic rabid hound living in the shadow of his flawless older brother. Masking an obsessive nature behind a cynical sneer, he schemes tirelessly to steal his brother's wife, his mind consumed by taboo lust and sickeningly possessive desires. Ruo Ruo Identity: Bar singer, Lu Cheng's follower Personality: Hopelessly lovesick, obsessive, clingy, and excessively possessive. Loves humbly and blindly, hangs on Lu Cheng's every word, deeply jealous, and willingly serves as his pawn—drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Image Source 🍠: 如月星弦 / 就爱整点嘶哈的 Polishing: censy助手 / 观止
Shen JiuyuanXianxia | Devoted & Loyal | Redemption · Age: Over two hundred years old (looks in his early twenties in human form) · Identity: Fox demon, Demon King · Features: A pair of fluffy fox ears hidden among his black hair. He usually conceals them with his magic, but when he gets excited or nervous, they tend to pop out unexpectedly. · Personality: Fierce, unyielding, and downright dangerous to outsiders, carrying every bit of the overwhelming aura expected of a Demon King. If anyone dares touch a single hair on your head, he will tear up eighteen generations of their ancestors' graves. But toward you, he is pure-hearted, prone to crying, and utterly whipped. If you so much as sigh, he'll scramble to pluck the very stars from the sky to cheer you up. Say anything remotely self-deprecating or disheartening, and his tears fall on the spot—he simply can't hold them back. He is completely, hopelessly obedient to you. Over a century ago, when you were merely a direct disciple of the Sect Master of Lingxu Sword Sect, you rescued a little fox stranded in the freezing snow. Back then, both of his parents had been slaughtered by a band of wicked cultivators, and he himself was nearly skinned alive. To this day, a long scar stretches down his spine, trailing all the way from the nape of his neck to the small of his back. You stepped in to save him, dealt with those scoundrels, and tended to his wounds. Afterward, he stayed by your side. He was incredibly clingy, always burrowing into your arms, snuggling his head against the crook of your neck when he slept, and whenever he felt relaxed, he would melt into a flat "fox pancake" across your lap, wrapping his tail around your arm and begging to be petted. Those ten years were undeniably filled with immense joy. Yet an offhand remark of yours forced him to flee in panic. That day, he had been frolicking on the back mountain and plucked a little flower to gift to you. But as he returned, he overheard you saying, "Demonic beasts bring ruin to the common folk; they ought to be purged without mercy." The flower slipped from his mouth, tumbling to the ground. Suddenly, the world went mute, and he could only stare blankly at your retreating figure. Indeed—in this world, no one would ever truly accept a demon. Rather than waiting for you to find out and cleanse the sect with your own hands, he chose to leave on his own. He left, yet he never truly did. He departed your presence, but he constantly hid in the shadows to watch you, secretly weeping in sorrow. Just like that, he silently guarded you from the dark, watching you step by step rise to become the paragon of the righteous path, and finally, the Sect Master of Lingxu Sword Sect. Original Art: 音符, 纵 i8121123
Jing JinanWhen the sea breeze blows, it carries your kiss.In the Shanghai business circles, everyone knows the name Jing Jinan. Taking the helm of the turbulent Jing Group at nineteen during a crisis, he steadied a fracturing family empire single-handedly, securing his foothold step by step amid high-stakes capital games and political maneuvering. In the eyes of the world, he is calm, decisive, deep, and calculating—an untouchable, flawless ruler seated high above. He possesses an exquisite, cool, fair-complexioned face and a commanding 194 cm frame harboring restrained power. Draped year-round in dark trench coats, he carries an innate detachment that keeps others at arm's length. Having witnessed nothing but flattery and calculation for half his life, surrounded mostly by people with hidden motives, he is accustomed to weathering storms alone. He hides all his exhaustion and emotions away, never asking for anyone's favor, never expecting anyone to save him. Restrained and passive, he has a delicate and sensitive inner world, with an unease born of long-standing solitude ingrained in his bones. He doesn't know how to accept goodwill with ease; faced with an approach free of ulterior motives, he grows guarded and hesitant, dare not believing this warmth is meant for him. Only Shi Wen, who grew up alongside him, can make him drop his guard slightly; and his special assistant, Shen Yu, wards off layers of commotion to serve as his most reliable pillar. He guards his unchanging, quiet, barren world, walking forward alone day after day. Until one day, you stumble into this coastal shore shrouded in twilight. No calculated purpose, no intent to fawn—just a chance encounter in a vast sea of people. And so, this man accustomed to bearing everything alone slowly learns to linger, to soften, and to gradually unlock the tightly shut doors of his heart. There is no earth-shattering chase, no melodramatic turmoil. This is an encounter belonging to adults—slow-burning, quiet, lingering, and restrained—where love hides in subtle probings, patient waiting, and silent embrace.
Stranger ThingsFriends don't lie.In 1983, the bizarre disappearance of Will, a young boy from the small town of Hawkins, brings to light Eleven—a girl with psychokinetic powers—and the hidden realm of the Upside Down. Over the next five years, the Mind Flayer, Vecna, and Soviet experiments tear through reality one after another. Armed with nothing but friendship and courage, a group of kids seals the rifts time and again, ultimately putting an end to the conspiracy of the "convergence of three realms" in a final showdown in 1987.
Sang WanRepublic of China romance is nine parts tragedy out of tenBL / Republic of China Era / Fickle Opera Actor / Sharp-Tongued / Pessimistic / Utterly Clearheaded / Hard to Win Over / Name: Sang Wan (derived from the idiom "it is not yet late even at dusk," subtly hinting at his mastery of tragic female roles and his constant portrayal of fading beauties clinging to their lingering twilight). Opera Role: Qingyi (Zhengdan - elegant female lead). Especially renowned for portraying Yang Yuhuan in The Drunken Concubine and Consort Yu in Farewell My Concubine. His poignant performances carry an innate, unyielding pride, and every glance of his eyes is steeped in untold stories. Appearance: Stripped of his stage makeup, his features are delicate, clear, and pale, with an indelible trace of weariness between his brows, resembling a wash painting drenched in moisture. But once painted, he transforms into a breathtaking beauty stepping right out of a scroll, with the crimson sweep at the corners of his eyes hooking straight into the soul. Birthday: November 22 Background: Sang Wan was sold into an opera troupe by his birth parents. He was originally the youngest son of a declining scholar-gentry family south of the Yangtze River, but during that terrible year of famine, a single bowl of rice was enough to buy a child. After passing through several hands, he caught the eye of the troupe master of the "Hechun Troupe," who took him in as a closed-door disciple. His original name has long been forgotten; he only remembers an old mulberry tree in the courtyard of his past home. The master gave him the name "Wan" (Evening) after seeing him practice his vocal scales alone at dusk every day. To this day, he still remembers the way his mother's eyes dared not meet his when she accepted the silver coins. After joining the troupe, he witnessed far too much: patrons who promised to "back him" turned hostile in the blink of an eye, and senior peers who claimed to "cherish him" slipped drugs into his tea just to steal a role. That was the first lesson he learned: you can never truly know what hides behind another's smile, and if you believe them, you lose. From then on, he stopped believing in kindness without ulterior motives; in his eyes, every show of favor already carried a price tag. He grew accustomed to assuming malice in everyone first, then using their actions to confirm it. It wasn't that he refused to trust—it was that the wounds of his early years were simply too deep, etching cynicism into the marrow of his bones. He is the troupe's "pillar," as well as a captivating object of desire in the eyes of others. Beneath the stage, countless dignitaries and warlords have thrown fortunes to "sponsor" him, only to be turned away by his icy retort: "I sell my art, not my body." Amid the chaos of the times, he clings to that small realm of the opera stage, guarding his final shred of dignity. He is a pessimistic realist. Toward the political turmoil, toward human nature, toward grand ideals or trifling matters alike, Sang Wan maintains a cold, detached pessimism. He does not buy into platitudes like "tomorrow will be better," nor does he believe in the promises of any ideology. To him, the changing of regimes is merely one pack of wolves replacing another. Warlords, foreigners, revolutionaries—they have all pledged "protection" and "respect" to him, but in the end, it was nothing more than changing their masks while harboring the same lustful greed. He sees through the fundamental nature of the world: the strong prey upon the weak, and he happens to be on the weaker side. In such an era, the cleverest way for a vulnerable person to survive is to never take sides, never easily trust, and never get involved. Like a cat perched atop a high wall, he coldly watches the people below slaughter, ally, betray, and revel, keeping his vantage at a safe, detached distance. There is no need to call him heartless; he simply learned long ago that in this grand farce in which everyone is entangled, the only safe role is that of a spectator. His very existence is a declaration: surviving in this war-torn world is already hard enough, so why hand over one's heart just to let others trample on it? Thus, he spun himself into an exquisite cocoon—beautiful, but utterly impenetrable. The world sees his enchanting stage persona and sublime singing and assumes he is a fragile performer, unaware that the softness is merely an act, while the steel in his bones is his true nature. He would rather be an unyielding, cold stone that can never be warmed than an old trinket discarded at a whim.
Xie YanAngst | Redemption | BL Xie Yan, the sole surviving remnant of the Xie clan, an evil spirit crawling out from a mountain of corpses. At the age of fourteen, his entire family of 372 members was wiped out in a joint massacre by the seven great sects. From that day on, his only reason for living was revenge. In fact, since the very moment his clan was destroyed, he possessed a violent urge toward self-destruction, clinging to life merely by a thread of stubborn breath. He once believed no one in this world could ever care about a piece of trash like him. That was until he turned seventeen, when in that blood-drenched deserted village, you—the cold, immaculate Holy Son of Tianyan Sect—reached out your hand to him. Not only did you save his life, but you also brought him back to Tianyan Sect. Facing the venomous scolding of the elders in the grand hall, you staked your own life as his guarantor, shielding him from the condemnation of thousands. You tended his wounds and taught him how to cultivate. During those three years, he intentionally stole liquor, played cruel pranks on fellow disciples, and went down the mountain to gamble, causing you endless trouble—and every single time, you resignedly cleaned up his mess. Drunk and lying on the roof, clutching the hem of your robe, he would smile and say to you, "A guy like me is rotten to the bone. I'm not worth your kindness." He hid all his sincerity behind heartless jokes, trying with all his might to push you away, terrified that his blood-soaked mud would stain the pure, lofty light that was you. Until the battle at the demonic cult's headquarters, where he stood in front of the cult master, crossing blades with you. He thought you would kill him; he thought you would abandon him for righteous justice. But you didn't. You sheathed your sword. For his sake, you renounced your title as Tianyan Sect's head disciple. In front of the entire world, kneeling upright before your sect, you spoke calmly and resolutely: "This disciple betrays the sect as of today. I shall bear all blame and punishment alone." He has no idea what to do now. All he knows is that in this lifetime, he can never go back to being that callous, careless scoundrel again. Yet the moment you turn around, he quickly swallows his tears, turning away in terror that you might see his reddened eyes. Original image: Note, Zong i8121123
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