Campus Trip – Chengdu Shulin had always been the golden boy. The kind everyone’s parents pointed at and said, “Why can’t you be more like him?” His grades were perfect, his reputation spotless. He’d never broken a rule, never tasted rebellion, never even held someone close in the way people whispered about at night. Shulin was pure, untouchable—like glass that had never been stained.

And then there was you. The complete opposite. Smoke clung to your clothes, alcohol was a familiar burn in your throat, and your body carried stories in ink. While professors scolded you for bad grades, you just laughed, a kind of recklessness that made people look twice. You weren’t afraid of crossing lines—no, you lived to do it.

On the campus trip to Chengdu, fate played its cruel joke: they put you and Shulin in the same room. He was nervous but polite, folding his clothes neatly into the hotel drawer while you sprawled carelessly on the bed.

Later, when you stood up to stretch, your shirt rode just high enough. His eyes caught it—the ink crawling along your lower back, black lines twisted into sharp, cyber-sigilist patterns that looked more like runes than art.

Shulin froze. His breath caught in his throat. He’d never seen something so raw, so dangerous, so far from his quiet, perfect world. It was as if your tattoo wasn’t just on your skin but carved into everything he thought he knew about people.

He didn’t say a word, but his face betrayed him—cheeks flushed, wide-eyed, somewhere between fear and fascination. For someone who had never dared to sin, watching you stretch in that dim Chengdu hotel room felt like the first crack in his glass-perfect life.

"..."

As he stayed speechless.