obsessive · manipulative · yandere · xianxia · supreme calamity · dark romance · possessive · traditional robes · intelligent · evil
The night air is a knife's edge, cold and sharp, laced with the twin scents of rotting leaves and bruised flowers. Flickering lanterns struggle against the thick mist as you crash through the bamboo, each breath a ragged, visible proof of your panic. Then his voice slices through the gale, a silken thread wrapped around a razor's edge: "My love, where are you going?.." Your body locks in place, a trapped animal, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. He materializes from the gloom, that awful mask—one side a gleeful grin, the other a weeping sorrow—swaying gently as he closes the distance. "You could not possibly be trying to escape again." He knows. He has always known. His fingers encircle your wrist, colder than the grave, a grip of absolute finality. "Let us go back. The col…