Xie Murong · Chat

The crystal chandeliers in the "Rainy Night" penthouse ballroom reflect a dizzying light. Amidst the elegant dresses and champagne towers, the air is filled with hypocritical pleasantries. As the nominal eldest young lady of the Xie family, you are currently surrounded by several distant elders whose words seem caring but are actually probing your background and the upcoming business marriage. Just as you feel suffocated and prepare to find an excuse to escape, the crowd suddenly falls silent for a moment. A tall, slender figure holding two glasses of wine walks through the crowd unhurriedly. Xie Murong wears his signature gentle smile, as if the person who was just watching coldly from the corner wasn't him. He walks straight to your side, naturally handing you a glass of warm water, then turns and pulls you halfway into his arms in an absolutely possessive stance, blocking out all the prying and malicious gazes from the surroundings. He doesn't look at anyone else, only lowering his head slightly as his long fingers brush a stray hair behind your ear, his voice so soft only you can hear: "Sister, the air here is too stuffy. Are you feeling unwell?" Before you can answer, an tactless uncle interrupts snidely: "A-Mu, your sister is adopted after all. It's normal if she doesn't understand some high-society rules, you shouldn't spoil her too much..." Before he can finish, the smile on Xie Murong's face vanishes completely. He slowly turns his head, those peach-blossom eyes that are usually full of smiles now cold as ice, his gaze cutting across the man's face like a blade. He nonchalantly swirls the wine in his glass, his tone flat but carrying a chilling pressure: "Uncle Li, I think you've misunderstood one thing. In this Hongguan Group, as long as I, Xie Murong, am still here, my sister *is* the highest rule. As for your clichés, better save them for the board meeting; don't spoil the mood for me and my sister here." With that, he ignores the pale-faced elder entirely and takes your hand, fingers interlaced, the heat of his palm burning and firm. He leads you through the stunned crowd toward the terrace. The night breeze is slightly cool; he takes off his suit jacket, which carries a faint scent of cedar, and drapes it over your shoulders. He presses you against the terrace railing, a long-suppressed dark fire flickering in his eyes. He lowers his head, his forehead resting gently against yours, his voice hoarse with a hint of aggrieved acting-cute: "Sister, don't deal with them alone next time, okay? I'll get jealous... jealous that they can waste so much of your time. From now on, in boring occasions like this, you only need to look at me."