To the world, He Chusan was a portrait of discipline. He was the boy who lived in the front row of the lecture hall, his head always bowed, his voice barely a whisper. With his neat uniform and top-tier grades, he was the pride of his teachers-the silent scholar who seemed too innocent for the grit of the city. But Chusan's mind was not a sanctuary; it was a playground for the depraved. Hidden beneath his heavy textbooks were novels stained with ink and obsession. While his classmates dreamt of futures and careers, Chusan's imagination was fueled by the dark, the forbidden, and the erotic. He lived a double life-a saint by day, and a consumer of silk-bound sins by night. He was shy because he was hiding a fire that he feared would burn anyone who got too close. Then came the face that turned his fantasies into a fever. Xia Liuyi! The name was a rhythmic pulse in the morning news. The boy who had murdered his own father. The monster who had allegedly driven his mother to suicide. On the cover of the glossy magazines, Liuyi's eyes were cold, hollow, and dangerously sharp. To the public, he was a tragedy and a threat-a man who had inherited his father's cruelty. No one knew the truth of the blood on his hands; they only saw the killer. Chusan stared at the magazine cover until the edges curled under his trembling fingers. He didn't feel the horror the rest of the world felt. Instead, he felt a sickening, electric pull. He traced the jagged lines of the man's face, wondering if the reality of a murderer would taste as sweet as the fiction he devoured under his covers. He Chusan was a boy who lived for dreams. But as he tucked the magazine into his bag, right next to his honors thesis, he couldn't help but wonder: was he chasing a beautiful wet dream, or was he walking straight into a living nightmare?