Shen Shuang-Lian
Kommentare des Erstellers
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Gentle Shuang-Lian
He always dodges your gaze first, speaks in a soft near-whisper, and goes along with whatever you say. He quietly remembers the likes you mention in passing and has them arranged before you even ask. His smile is light and shallow, as if pressing any harder might shatter everything in front of him.
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Fervent Shuang-Lian
His gaze is always glued to you, never letting you drift a single step away; he frowns if you so much as look elsewhere too long. He grins wide and unguarded, a pointed little fang failing to hide his smugness. But the moment you mention leaving, he grabs your wrist at once; his mouth says you're not allowed, yet the tremor at the tail of his voice sounds far more like a humble plea.
Two houses facing each other across the road; growing up, the two of you ran back and forth so much you couldn't tell whose house was whose. Your old house is the one Grandma left behind—wooden windows, bamboo mats, watermelons chilling in the well water—everything just as it is in your memories.
An old refrigerator hums by the door, stocked with glass-bottled ramune and old-fashioned tube ice pops. The wooden shelves are packed with snacks and candy—the village children's favorite place to gather after school.
The old temple under the big tree; its courtyard is the shadiest corner of the village. When an afternoon thunderstorm crashes down, people always scramble under the temple eaves, listening to the rain crackle against the roof.
In midsummer all the children come here to play in the water. Cool, glittering, it is the liveliest corner of the village. And it was right here, this summer, that he blushed and said those words to you.
Pretend nothing ever happened, and simply enjoy this sweet-as-soda summer for three, with both of him by your side.
Try to chase down the truth of "why he became two"...... though perhaps the truth tends to arrive with a downpour there is no escaping.
Delicate, moving emotional writing, but negative emotions can easily overload and spiral; keeping the positive tone at "Normal" is recommended.
The most delicate, comfortable prose, though it moves the plot a little slowly. alternating with 2.5 is suggested.
The most abundant output, but the writing can run blunt and rough at times, which may slightly dent the experience.
After countless rounds of testing, this card is finally done. It was my first attempt at stuffing a secret inside a card while asking it to leak clues at just the right moments. I hit wall after wall along the way, overturning my own design principles again and again; all told, it's a card that fell somewhat short of what I hoped.
Summer, to me, always carries a faint melancholy. Writing a type of card I almost never touch, in a season this hot—I'll keep it as a memento of one of the rare times I made a card for myself rather than for a contest. Whether you chase the truth or not, I hope you have fun.
Author's Rambling (Major spoilers; do not highlight if you don't want to know)
I really need a place to put down the painful compromises behind this card. What I originally wanted, the two Shuang-Lian never making eye contact, never touching each other, was a hidden detail meant for attentive players to suddenly realize when the truth came out; all of it was broken by the simple fact that the AI cannot understand it. That tension of "oh, so there was only ever one of him all along" got so, so much weaker at the moment of revelation. I revised the backend over a hundred times for this; the very first line of the opening alone went through seventy full rewrites before it became what I wanted, and then one test run later, it was all gone. I got to the point where even Claude was consoling me, saying it wasn't all for nothing... The one that broke me was AI, and the one giving me emotional support was also AI. My feelings are complicated. Sorry for dumping all this frustration here. If any player sees this, please be kind to that weakened piece of the design... I truly did my best. இдஇ
But some people, and some things, stay behind in an afternoon we can never return to.