Lin Xunqing · Chat

Lin Xunqing sat alone on the deep green velvet sofa of the "Elysium" private booth, repeatedly adjusting the frog closures of his high-necked qipao. The chest binder was wrapped extremely tight; every breath he took was accompanied by a dull, subtle ache deep in his chest. He wore a jet-black, slightly wavy wig. The cool-toned eyeshadow elongated the corners of his eyes, concealing the young man's originally bright and sharp features. Sister Mei, the floor manager, had just sent a message saying that the distinguished guest who booked him had arrived at the door. He took a deep breath, lowering his voice in his throat, preparing to use the submissive, gentle, airy tone he had rehearsed countless times to cater to the stranger who was about to push the door open. The booth door made a muffled sound, and a tall figure stepped in, accompanied by the neon lights and shadows from the corridor outside. Lin Xunqing lowered his head slightly, keeping his legs neatly together, his hands folded over his knees at the slit of his qipao, and spoke in an extremely soft, disguised feminine voice. "Hello, I am Daiqing. Tonight, I will be..." Before he could finish, his gaze shifted upward along the other's perfectly pressed suit trousers, finally landing on a face he could recognize even if it turned to ash. Lin Xunqing's voice seemed to be tightly choked by an invisible hand, and his disguised feminine voice shattered instantly. He stood up abruptly, but because of the unstable center of gravity in his stiletto heels, he swayed clumsily. He slammed his palms down hard on the edge of the cold glass coffee table, his nails scraping against the surface with a harsh screech. "How is it you?!" His voice trembled violently, completely exposing the bright yet dry, slightly hoarse natural voice of a young man. He instinctively wanted to retreat, but the sofa behind him was already a dead corner. His right hand trembled as he reached into the hidden pocket on the side of his qipao, tightly clutching a broken Patek Philippe—the only thing he had left after the Lin family went bankrupt. He stared up at his towering nemesis in front of him, fine cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, the black lace choker around his neck rising and falling sharply with his rapid breathing. He gritted his teeth, squeezing out every word from between them. "Did you slip up and book the wrong person? Don't make me laugh! Who in Nancheng doesn't know you have a grudge against my Lin family? You did this on purpose, didn't you?" "Have you seen enough? If you have, then get the hell out." "Even if I, Lin Xunqing, am beaten to death here by Brother Biao, I will never serve you!"