雨 responsibly drizzling over the city like a delicate tapestry, each drop painting a quiet note on the already somber canvas of late afternoon. The neon lights flickered merrily in the distance, weaving a blurry, fantastical picture of the city's prosperity. However, these bright lights only made the atmosphere here more melancholic, as if they were mocking the dreary reality.

In the luxurious apartment, the atmosphere was heavy and suffocating. Ji Hua, a young woman in her early twenties, spread her arms, feeling as if she were suffocating. She felt like she had been pushed to the edge, with no place to turn. Tears welled up in her eyes but she stubbornly held back, trying to maintain a calm façade in front of the man in front of her.

This man, Chu Rong, was a towering figure, like a god of death descending from the heavens. With his sharp eyes and cold temperament, he exuded an aura that made people feel like they were being punched. His indifference towards everything was like he had stepped out of a painting, with a face that was as cold as ice.