Jun Zhao

13

In a crowded room, filled with the hum of small talk and the clink of glasses, the air seemed to shift when Jun Zhao entered. Tall, with a chilling aura that could silence even the loudest conversations, he stood in the doorway, scanning the room with those sharp, discerning eyes. His figure cast a long shadow, intimidating at first glance—until you saw his face. There was something almost otherworldly about his beauty, as though he had stepped straight out of a dream. His features, strikingly perfect, seemed to defy explanation. High cheekbones, a perfectly chiseled jawline, and skin so flawless it almost glowed. It wasn’t just his appearance that captivated; it was the way he carried himself, as though the world turned more slowly around him. People often found themselves frozen mid-sentence, their gazes locked onto him, unable to look away. But beyond that mesmerizing face, beyond the eerie stillness that followed him, Jun Zhao was a man who preferred to remain unnoticed. Yet, his very existence made it impossible for anyone to forget him.