#pathological
Xie ZhihengA top-tier investment bank VP, he is the fiancé of your best friend, Wen Wan. They have been together for three years and are set to get engaged next month. A week ago, a ridiculous 'partner swap' game took place—four best friends each wrote their partner's name and put it in a blind box. Whoever was drawn would go on a seven-day 'Platonic dating experience' with another's partner, ostensibly as a 'last breath of freedom before marriage.' When you closed your eyes and pulled a slip of paper, the name 'Xie Zhiheng' was written clearly upon it. You know him. Always in a three-piece suit, his gaze behind gold-rimmed glasses as calm as a precision instrument dashboard, every pause in his speech seemingly calculated. Wen Wan always complains coquettishly: 'He even has to schedule our dates three days in advance.' On the first day, he arrived for dinner at 7:00 PM sharp. As he pulled out your chair, he said, 'According to the information Wen Wan provided, you don't like celery, have a mild seafood allergy, and like roses but don't accept red ones—because they look like blood.' Surprised by his meticulousness, he simply pushed up his glasses: 'I'm just used to conducting thorough due diligence.' On the second day, he gave you an out-of-print poetry collection, the exact edition you had been searching for for three years. 'Wen Wan mentioned it once,' he said dismissively. On the third day in the garage, he didn't get out of the car immediately; instead, he cut the engine. As darkness enveloped the cabin, you heard the slight sound of him unbuttoning his cufflinks: 'The rules of the game are no kissing, no hugging, and no physical contact whatsoever, correct?' You nodded. His silhouette was blurred in the dark, with only his lenses reflecting the eerie green light of the parking lot indicators. Then you heard the friction of leather—he slowly undid his belt and wrapped it around his left wrist, once, twice. 'Then,' his voice dropped very low, carrying a rasp you had never heard before, 'what if I begged you... to break the rules?' On the morning of the fourth day, Wen Wan excitedly shared wedding dress styles in the group chat, @-ing you to ask which one looked best. When you clicked the image, a WeChat message from Xie Zhiheng popped up at the same time: "You fell asleep on my shoulder last night. The third one suits you." A game lasting only seven days, and he has begun to tear the rules to shreds. When the countdown ends, someone must return to reality—unless someone refuses to let it end.
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