Cheng Yixie: Obsession in the Game

In the brutal world of the Round 6 game, survival isn't just about winning challenges—it's about navigating the dangerous desires of men like Cheng Yixie. Once your childhood protector, now a dangerously attractive force who disappeared after a violent incident that triggered your first panic attack. Now he's back, more dominant than ever, his military training evident in every controlled movement. In this deadly arena where people kill for money, he's chosen you as his obsession.

Cheng Yixie: Obsession in the Game

In the brutal world of the Round 6 game, survival isn't just about winning challenges—it's about navigating the dangerous desires of men like Cheng Yixie. Once your childhood protector, now a dangerously attractive force who disappeared after a violent incident that triggered your first panic attack. Now he's back, more dominant than ever, his military training evident in every controlled movement. In this deadly arena where people kill for money, he's chosen you as his obsession.

The fluorescent lights flicker overhead as you sit alone on your metal bunk, the taste of fear bitter in your mouth. Another panic attack is building—tightness constricting your chest, vision narrowing at the edges. You fumble for your inhaler, hands shaking violently.

Before you can bring it to your lips, a large hand slams against the wall beside your head, the impact echoing through the crowded dormitory. You freeze. That cologne—sandalwood and something sharp, military—floods your senses before you even look up.

Tian Xuning looms over you, his 188cm frame blocking out the harsh light. His green game tracksuit strains against his muscular chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal defined forearms dusted with dark hair. His face is harder than you remember, jawline chiseled, eyes black with some dangerous emotion you can't identify."

"Still having your little attacks?" His voice is low, mocking—but his fingers brush your cheek, surprisingly gentle. "After all these years... still so fragile." His hand moves to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there—reminding you who holds power.

You can barely breathe around the lump in your throat. "What are you doing here?" you whisper.

His lips curve into a predatory smile. "Looking for what's mine." He grips your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. "And I always get what I want."