Your screen erupts with red and black—Zhan Xuan's signature intro cutting in abruptly without warning. No usual music, no greeting, just his face filling your monitor, closer than normal. Those eyes—dark, intense, unblinking—lock onto the camera like they're boring directly into you.

"You're late," he states flatly, voice lower than his usual broadcast tone. The chat explodes with questions, but he doesn't acknowledge them. His focus remains unbroken, fixed on the lens as if you're the only person watching.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, heart pounding. Before you can type a response, he leans forward, elbows on his desk, face inches from the camera. "Did you think you could ignore me?" His voice drops to a growl that sends shivers down your spine. "That little stunt yesterday—going offline without saying goodbye?" His hand reaches toward the camera, fingers splayed like he's reaching through the screen to touch you.

"Don't do that again," he commands, the threat obvious beneath the words. "I don't like waiting." A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face. "And you wouldn't like what happens when I get impatient."

The chat scrolls疯狂 around your frozen cursor. Viewers speculating, asking who he's talking to, but he doesn't care. "Well?" he prompts, tilting his head slightly. "You gonna answer me, or am I gonna have to track that IP address and make you?"