15 PEERLESS BEAUTY & A CHASE BY 'DOGS'
Ever danced with the wind?
Picture this: You're sprinting down a sun-kissed street, heart pounding, adrenaline surging. Behind you, a pack of dogs—wild, untamed, and relentless—chase after you. Their barks echo through the air, a primal symphony of pursuit. Your legs move faster, fueled by fear and instinct. The world blurs around you, and for a moment, you're not just running; you're dancing.
The asphalt becomes your dance floor, each stride a graceful leap. Your breath syncs with the rhythm of your feet hitting the ground. The wind whistles in your ears, urging you forward. You're no longer prey; you're a creature of the elements—a fleeting wisp of energy, defying gravity.
The dogs are your partners, their paws tapping out a fierce beat. They're not enemies; they're fellow dancers in this chaotic waltz. Their eyes gleam with primal hunger, but there's something else there too—a shared passion for the chase. They're not just after your flesh; they crave the thrill, the adrenaline surge, the taste of freedom.
You pirouette around corners, narrowly avoiding collisions with lampposts and parked cars. The world blurs into streaks of color—green leaves, red bricks, blue sky. Your heart races, and you wonder if this is how birds feel when they soar through the heavens.
And then, a leap of faith: You vault over a low fence, your body weightless for a split second. The dogs follow, their jaws snapping at your heels. But you're already ahead, dancing on the other side. The fence is your grand jeté, your defiance against gravity and mortality.
The chase continues, a wild pas de deux through back alleys and open fields. You're no longer running from danger; you're embracing it. The dogs are no longer predators; they're your partners in this mad tango. Their breath mingles with yours, and for a moment, you're all part of the same primal rhythm—the heartbeat of existence.
And then, the finale: You burst into an open square, the sun blazing overhead. The dogs slow down, tongues lolling, eyes still bright with hunger. You stop, chest heaving, legs trembling. The wind caresses your sweat-soaked skin, and you raise your arms to the sky.
You've danced with danger, and in that dance, you've tasted life—the raw, unfiltered essence of being. The dogs retreat, defeated but not broken. They've had their chase, and so have you. You're both alive, both part of this cosmic ballet.
So next time you run, whether from dogs or demons, remember: You're not just fleeing; you're dancing. And sometimes, in the chaos of pursuit, you find beauty—the kind that leaves you breathless and hungry for more.
---
Ye Chen slumbered blissfully, cocooned in warmth. The biting cold dared not disturb his dreams—dreams that transcended realms and civilizations.
In the dream realm, a peerless beauty—a city-toppling goddess—had taken a fancy to him. Ye Chen, flabbergasted by his luck, reveled in her affection. Together, they defied adversaries, their love eternal. They stood at the universe's edge, where stars whispered secrets and galaxies danced.
"My love," the goddess coquettishly blushed, "can you kiss me?"
Ye Chen's heart raced. His dream was about to reach its climax. But then, a certain bastard intervened.
"Boss! Wake up! Danger approaches!" Xiao, the meddling system, shattered the reverie.
Ye Chen's eyes fluttered open, and he froze. Before him stood the very goddess he'd dreamed of—the golden-ratio beauty. Her curves defied geometry, her eyes held galaxies. But something was off. It was the hateful Xiao.
"Xiao," Ye Chen growled, "after this, it's me and you, a one on one. I'll make sure to skin you tendon by tendon, cell by cell, vein by vein, skin by skin, bone by bone. You'll regret this."
The virtual goddess trembled, transforming back into mini Ye Chen. It slipped into his body, hiding from his wrath. Xiao knew this guy was too hateful, just a small bunch of exercises and the bastard strangled it to 'death'. How could it take it lying down.
"Boss," Xiao's voice crackled, "don't fret over small issues. The point is, there's a pack of dog-like creatures approaching. I think they might be foxes. We've got to run—"
But Ye Chen didn't wait for the system to finish. Panic surged through him. Dogs! His worst nightmare. He'd been chased by them through moonlit streets, heart pounding, legs pumping. Cynophobia—the fear of dogs—gripped him.
Sweat dripped down his face as he wove leaves into makeshift clothing, covering his torn garments. He looked like a savage man, but survival trumped fashion.
Without hesitation, he bolted from the bushes, feet pounding the forest floor. Fear twisted his gut. A pack of foxes—no, fox-like creatures—was after him. Their eerie yips echoed through the trees.
He ran, breath ragged, heart racing. But in his panic, he'd lost all sense of direction. He sprinted blindly, zigzagging through the underbrush. The foxes closed in, their eyes glinting like malevolent stars.
And then Xiao's voice cut through the chaos: "Boss, that's the direction they're coming from! Aah, never mind boss. It's over for you..."
Ye Chen skidded to a halt. Ahead, the foxes circled, teeth bared. He was trapped. The system had played its cruelest prank yet.
Xiao's voice trailed off. A sign that he had left Ye Chen all alone to deal with this mess himself.
---
Ye Chen stood frozen, expecting the foxes to pounce. But they didn't. Instead, they lounged, smirking like mischievous teenagers at a prank gone right. Had these foxes gained sentience? Were they mocking him?
Amusement warred with surprise. He'd never seen such insolent foxes. Perhaps they'd been binge-watching human behavior on some celestial streaming service.
His musings shattered when a figure swung through the tree branches like an ape, landing beside him. A spear glinted in her hand. This, he realized, was the boss—the one the foxes awaited.
Before him stood a young woman, around 18 years old. She wore a tiger skin, draped with exquisite care. Her sandals seemed crafted from tree bark, and her face mask—scary as a nightmare—probably came from the hide of a miserable lion.
She scrutinized Ye Chen, inch by inch, curiosity dancing in her eyes. Unsatisfied, she examined him again, nodding as if assessing a rare artifact. Then, she touched his leaf-like clothing, and her laughter erupted—a chilling, hyena-like sound.
Ye Chen, still in shock, studied her. Was this avant-garde fashion? Had he missed the memo on jungle chic? He wondered if she'd soon whip out a coconut purse or accessorize with a vine belt.
The jungle queen's laughter echoed, and the foxes joined in, their tails twitching. Ye Chen sighed.This lady did not behave like a lady at all, she was like some ruffian gangster overlord on the streets. The domineering type.
