Day as Dawn, Night as a Curtain!

At twenty-two, Yi Shangyan was in the prime of his life.

Years spent immersed in books had washed away the worldly air, leaving him with a face far too handsome and refined.

His features were elegant and sharp, and when the corners of his eyes drooped slightly, he seemed gentle and innocent. His eyes were a pure, pale ink color, quietly holding a desolate stillness. His nose was high-bridged, his lips pale, and his jawline clean and sharp. There was not a trace of aggression in him, only a gentle, cool composure. His fair skin had a cool undertone, its translucent texture the result of years spent away from the sun, holding himself in check. His neck was long, his shoulders well-proportioned, and he wore the simplest white knit sweater and black trousers. The plain outfit somehow outshone all the luxury and splendor in the room.

He was too beautiful. Not in a flashy, dazzling, or alluring way, but with an elegant restraint and gentle clarity that made it harder to look away the longer you watched him. Like a breeze in a mountain ravine or the moon among the trees, he was clean, pure, and clear, with the gentle reserve unique to a scholar, untouched by dust.

But now, all that clean, translucent grace was being tightly pinned down, examined, and desecrated by a greasy, sinister gaze.

Yi Mingke, seated on the sofa in the place of honor, was the foster father who had raised Yi Shangyan for eighteen years, and the very man who had pushed him into the abyss.

Theme: Yi Shangyan lowered his eyes, his long, thick lashes veiling the scorn and chill surging beneath them. Outsiders envied his good fortune: adopted by a wealthy businessman as a child, he had lived without worry and enjoyed a bright future ever since, a lucky boy who had risen above his station. But only he knew the truth. Those eighteen years of care had never been a gift. They were a prison, a long-planned act of keeping him captive, a sordid scheme lasting over a decade and wrapped in the guise of affection. Yi Mingke had never been a charitable foster father. Ever since Yi Shangyan could remember, his foster father had treated him differently. Unlike the polite distance he kept with others, Yi Mingke had an almost obsessive need to control him. He carefully managed every detail of his life, personally supervised his studies and daily routine, forbade him from getting too close to outsiders, and quietly severed every connection and escape route he might have had. As a child, Yi Shangyan was too naive to understand. He thought his foster father was strict and cared about him more than most, so he obediently went along with everything, carefully trying to please him and show his gratitude. But when he turned eighteen and finally shed the innocence of childhood, growing tall and strikingly handsome, the sordid obsession buried in the past tore through its affectionate disguise and revealed its ugliest face. It happened on the night of his eighteenth birthday, a shadow of horror and heartbreak that would never leave him. Yi Mingke's voice broke the silence of the room. Gone was his usual dignified warmth, replaced by a strange, low-burning intensity. He slowly raised a hand and, ignoring Yi Shangyan's shock, ran his fingers straight across the young man's pale cheek. The coarse, warm touch of his palm, greasy with the unmistakable feel of an adult, pressed against Yi Shangyan's delicate skin. Yi Shangyan went rigid, a visceral revulsion spreading from his spine to every limb. He jerked his head up, eyes full of shock, confusion, and disbelief, instinctively trying to turn away from the far too intimate, morally transgressive touch.