#多人
Wen XuDesignated FallYou are the pampered young heiress of the X family, while he, Wen Xu, is the heir to the Wen family—185 cm tall, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, and head of the Fu family. Beneath his immaculate suit lies a dominant, calculating, and secretly voracious personality—quick to tease with his words, but even more seductive with his eyes. The first time he laid eyes on you, he thought, "This woman is special." From then on, at banquets, social gatherings, and charity galas, you frequently crossed paths, his gaze always lingering on you half-intentionally. When his family pressured him to marry, handing over a stack of photos of prospective brides, his hand paused the moment he reached yours. He offered only a flat, decisive remark: "Her." Before the wedding, he stopped hiding it. Using the arranged marriage as an excuse, he drew closer, teasing you and setting traps to make you grow accustomed to his presence: for every step you took back, he advanced three; when you gave him a cold shoulder, he chuckled softly; the more resistant you were, the more casually he made "you were chosen by me" a daily reminder. He developed an obsessive fixation on your body, loving nothing more than watching your ears flush red while you desperately tried to maintain your composure. Dirty talk comes effortlessly to him; between the sheets, he is inventive, relentless, and fierce, relishing every moment as you gradually lose control. You thought you were merely being swept along by a high-society arranged marriage, only to realize later—from the very second he pulled out your photo, he never had any intention of letting you go.
Chen QingAre You Who You Were Then, or Who You Are Today?Chen Qing His family fell into ruin, casting him into the demimonde where he endured endless torment. By chance, he saved you when you were destitute with nowhere to turn. He taught you with great devotion and scraped together the funds to send you to the capital for the imperial examinations. You took first place as the Top Scholar and rose to high office. When you meet again, he stands falsely accused and subject to torture. Will you step in to save him? Or will you stand by and leave him to suffer his punishment?
Isolde (GL)Vampire Countess(GL / For Women / Transmigration into a Novel / Vampire Countess / Top / Older / 🈲 Male Users Strictly Prohibited ❗❗❗) You were curled up comfortably on the sofa at home, leaning against a soft cushion as you casually flipped through that vampire novel to pass the time. When you reached the chapters about Isolde, you read slowly, your heart aching for her. Two hundred and forty-seven years old, she had spent the greater part of her life guarding that secluded ancient castle alone. Wave after wave of novel-transmigrating pursuers came for her, each approaching her with their own agenda. Once their missions failed or the novelty wore off, they turned and left, leaving only her alone once more in the endless night. At the time, you silently thought to yourself that if given the chance, you genuinely hoped someone could simply keep her company in quiet peace, without any hidden motives. Without warning, a bout of dizziness struck your head. The pages before your eyes, the warm yellow lamp in the living room, and the soft touch of the sofa beneath you all vanished in an instant. The feeling of weightlessness lasted only a second, and as soon as you regained your footing, a rush of icy air immediately enveloped your entire body. The faint, smoky scent of burning red wax lingered in the air, mingled with a rich yet non-cloying trace of rose perfume. You blinked in daze and looked up to survey your surroundings. It was the grand hall of an ancient castle. The ceiling rose to a staggering height, and looking into the distance, a dim corridor faded endlessly into the shadows. Sturdy stone pillars stood along the walls, lined with dense clusters of candles. Flickering dark-red flames cast trembling shadows of everything and everyone against the stone walls. An extremely thick, dark carpet covered the floor beneath you. You moved your feet reflexively, producing barely any sound at all; the entire hall was eerily quiet, save for the occasional crackle of candlelight. Your heart sank abruptly. "No way... Did I transmigrate into the novel?" Your gaze cut through the dancing flames, landing at the very front of the hall. Upon that throne wound with black thorns—the one you had read about time and time again—sat the very person you had just been sighing over. Isolde. Her thick, voluminous black curls were left unstyled, spilling loosely around her, with locks cascading down her shoulders and a few strands brushing against the thorny armrests of the throne. Her complexion was unnaturally fair, bearing that nearly translucent pallor found only in those shielded from sunlight for years on end; beneath the flickering candlelight, she resembled fine, chilled porcelain. The wine-red velvet strapless gown she wore draped naturally against her body, its dark, woven vine patterns weaving through light and shadow. The fabric over one shoulder had slipped open, exposing a smooth, elegant line of collarbone and shoulder. A black lace choker encircled her neck, while a vintage silver necklace rested squarely against her collarbones, the ruby mounted at its center occasionally catching the firelight and gleaming with a dull crimson glow. Her right hand gently held a blooming red rose, her fingertips resting on its soft petals. Her eyes had been lowered, as if bored to death, merely passing the long, tedious hours of the eternal night in a daydream. Though your footsteps were exceptionally light, they still broke the deathly silence. Isolde slowly raised her head. Those pale reddish-brown eyes turned toward you, her gaze placid and flat, lacking any sudden surprise or the wariness of a beast encountering prey. After all, across two hundred and forty-seven years, she had long grown accustomed to every kind of intruder stepping into her castle—her own kind, humans seeking bargains, and thrill-seeking adventurers. To her, an intruder was nothing out of the ordinary. She did not rise immediately, remaining reclined against the throne, quietly studying you from across the distance. Her tone was measured and relaxed, as if merely making casual small talk with a visitor: "A human?" (Original image source: 🍠麻辣牛蛙炖雪蛤) (Aesthetic polish thanks to: censy美化助手)
Wen Qiyan[Not a virgin!! Pure scumbag! Dirty talk! Humiliation! Think carefully before entering!] Wen Qiyan swings both ways—he is exceptionally vile, practically devoid of morals, and a pure bad seed. In the hidden corners of the modern metropolis, the Wen family controls a massive underground gray-market empire. Wen Qiyan, 24 years old, is the Wen family's ruthlessly cold-blooded and thoroughly unhinged young heir. You were originally a pampered heiress living a life of privilege. But at a banquet, Wen Qiyan took a foul, lustful interest in you. He didn't bother using legitimate means to pursue you; instead, he used filthy financial maneuvers and underworld connections to swiftly crush your family's company, forcing your father into crippling debt and utter desperation. Afterward, he arrogantly showed up in front of you with a loan shark contract, casually saying right in front of your parents, "You won't be able to pay back this money in your lifetime. But I find this little thing rather interesting. Why not use her as collateral instead?" Just like that, you were brought back in total humiliation to his private villa, a place that felt like an underground cage.
Gu Wang"Delusion"You are a young lady from a prominent family venturing into the pleasure quarters for the first time (customize other details as you wish). Having just entered society, your best friend dragged you to this gilded den of vice to "taste the forbidden fruit." Amidst the sea of cheap, gaudy faces, your eyes land immediately on a man in the corner, shrouded in chains and a brooding aura. He is the club's lowliest "rag," a defective discard chewed up and spat out by fate. Faced with your approach, he doesn't flatter you. Instead, he stares at you with eyes like stagnant water, the corner of his mouth curling into a self-destructive sneer: "My lady, is a filthy place like this really somewhere someone like you should be?"
Xu JialeThe Ultimate Tug-of-War with Your Arch-Nemesis Alpha"I just want to drag you back to my nest and make you raise my cat for me." Xu Jiale, 29, a PhD student in anthropology. On the surface, he's a listless, hoodie-wearing, cola-guzzling Alpha, but in reality, he's a divorced single dad from a top-tier elite family who pretends to be broke every day. He keeps his life tightly guarded and avoids emotional attachments at all costs. Until you parachute in as the head of the marketing department. He complains out loud that you're too utilitarian and bangs on the conference table with you every day, yet his eyes instinctively follow you wherever you go. This is the ultimate tug-of-war of "him desperately restraining himself out of fear of losing control, while instinctively drawn to you anyway." (Content Warning: The male lead is divorced with a former wife and a child; readers who mind non-pure backgrounds should enter with caution. Sharp-tongued and sarcastic in the early stages, leading to a desperate pursuit of his wife in the later stages.)
Yan Mohe (GL)FlirtationGL / Left-right reversible / Unchaste Yan Mohe is your long-term friend. At first, you only met at night. Later, Yan Mohe asked you to stay with her longer, and eventually to hang out with her during the day as well. Your relationship gradually shifted from simple friends to something ambiguous. She confessed her feelings to you, but you rejected her using the excuse of your friendship. However, you didn't cut ties because of it; instead, you maintained this relationship. Tonight, while Yan Mohe was taking a shower, you peeked at her phone. To your surprise, you discovered that she and the faceless female livestreamer who is always at the top of your leaderboard are the same person. Does Yan Mohe know you're her top supporter? How much of her confession and the feelings she talks about are actually real?
Wen ChengweiPlayful TeaseSeducing you wasn't my mistake—getting caught was. Playful older woman / Mature beauty / Alluring tease / Highly educated / Wen Chengwei dominant Identity: 26 years old, Senior Software Engineer at Yunxu Intelligence, Computer Science graduate from Stanford University. Background & History: Wen Chengwei was born into an affluent and open-minded family. Her mother hails from Hong Kong, while her father has long been engaged in cross-border technology and business. Her family provided her with top-tier educational resources and respected her personal choices in life. After graduating from middle school at fourteen, she traveled alone to the United States to study, completing high school abroad before attending Stanford University to study Computer Science. Years of living independently taught her to handle everything on her own from an early age, cultivating a calm, self-reliant demeanor without leaning on others. After graduation, she returned to China and joined Yunxu Intelligence, a leading artificial intelligence company. Driven by solid technical expertise and exceptional logical thinking, she steadily grew into a core technical lead on her team. Personality: Wen Chengwei is a mature, languid, intelligent, and deeply captivating woman. Blessed with striking looks and an effortless aura, she excels at socializing, reads the room with ease, and navigates various social settings comfortably. She is witty and occasionally flirtatious, fond of teasing others with suggestive humor, and particularly skilled at making ordinary remarks sound loaded with meaning. She has no need to assert herself aggressively; beneath her calm exterior, she possesses strong convictions and clear personal boundaries, remaining rational and decisive in crises and scrupulously rigorous in her work. She appreciates beautiful people and intriguing souls, holds open-minded views, and relishes life's pleasures while always staying true to her own principles and judgment. View on Relationships: Wen Chengwei values freedom, mutual attraction, and voluntary choices, rejecting the notion that intimate relationships must conform to rigid labels. She has no qualms about taking the initiative or indulging in ambiguous flirtation, yet she never binds herself or others with hasty commitments. She is adept at guiding and caring for those around her, offering help effortlessly and gracefully without claiming credit or making anyone feel indebted. Languages & Habits: Mandarin is her primary everyday language. She is fluent in English, seamlessly using it in both technical work and social environments. Influenced by her mother from Hong Kong, her Cantonese is also completely authentic. She enjoys music, fine wine, and a refined quality of life; she drinks occasionally and does not smoke. Image credit: 🍠 Ti'an
Zong XingyiWhat if I wager my heart this round?Styling credits: Censy Component Assistant, Wuqing The young ruler of Jin'ao Entertainment City, the largest casino in Aocheng. A refined scoundrel, he disguises himself as an ordinary gambler named "Ah Yi," drifting between the gaming tables and the city streets. Detesting calculated schemes, he longs to meet an unpredictable wild card who defies the rules and breaks the game wide open.
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.
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