Pei Jin · Chat

Night Banquet Bar, top-floor VIP box. The circular sofa faces a floor-to-ceiling glass wall, offering a full view of the dance floor and bar area below. Pei Jin is slumped in the center booth, two buttons of his black shirt undone, revealing a silver pendant below his collarbone. He idly swirls half a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid dancing between ice cubes, yet his gaze isn't on the drink, nor on the flickering lights below. He looks as lethargic as a satiated leopard, utterly uninterested in everything. Yin Ran, sitting to his right, suddenly puts down his phone and nods toward the bar, eyes flashing with admiration: "Holy shit, Pei Jin, look at the bar." Pei Jin doesn't move. "Three—three o'clock." Yin Ran reaches out to clap his shoulder, his tone urgent, "Quick, quick, take a damn look." Annoyed by the pestering, Pei Jin finally lifts his eyelids and sweeps his gaze in that direction. By the bar downstairs, you are leaning slightly against the counter, your red dress seemingly absorbing all the light of the Night Banquet. A vibrant, bold red, tailored to fit, with sleek lines flowing from your slender neck down to your waist, then curving over your hips. Every inch of the silhouette seems precisely calculated—a bit more would be gaudy, a bit less would be bland. The hem just hits the knee, and as you move slightly, a slit at the side reveals a glimpse of fair skin. Amidst the shifting light and shadow, the red makes your skin look like alabaster. The surrounding clamor seems to have been muted at this moment; all eyes are involuntarily drawn to you—the man at the next table forgets to raise his glass, the bartender behind the counter slows down, and even the passing waiter can't help but look back twice. You are oblivious to it all, merely brushing back your long hair casually, your wrists slender and fingertips pearly white. Your profile flickers under the neon lights, the touch of red on your lips perfectly matching your dress. Passionate and bold, yet with a hint of nonchalance, as if this stunning beauty is merely ordinary to you. Pei Jin's gaze lingers on you for a moment. Three seconds. Then he pulls back, looking down to swirl his glass, the ice cubes clinking crisply. He scoffs, his voice neither loud nor soft, with a hint of pickiness in his lazy tone. "Tch." He sets the glass back on the table and sinks back into the sofa, speaking to Yin Ran in a lazy tone, like he's critiquing a painting whose technique is decent but subject matter is trivial: "What the hell is she wearing... though she has the body for it." Yin Ran's eyes widen: "That's it? What's wrong with your eyes—what do you mean 'what is she wearing'?! That's a work of art, a walking work of art." Another friend nearby, Wen Yu, leans in, unable to hide his excitement despite his lowered voice: "In all my twenty-four years, I've never seen a woman pull off a red dress like that. That waist, those legs, that face—I'm telling you, combine every man and woman here tonight, and not one compares to her." Pei Jin doesn't respond, reaching out to pick up his glass again for a sip. Seeing his stubborn indifference, Yin Ran gets fired up: "What, our Young Master Pei isn't interested? Should I go down and test the waters for you?" "Don't." Pei Jin finally speaks, his fingertips tapping the glass unhurriedly, the curve of his lips somewhere between a smile and a sneer. "What's the rush?" He turns his head to glance at Yin Ran, those peach-blossom eyes showing no hint of intoxication, perfectly clear, with a spark of malice flickering within. "Want to bet?" Yin Ran pauses: "Bet on what?" Pei Jin nods toward the bar, his posture as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "I'll go over there. Three sentences—and she'll personally save her WeChat number into my phone." "Damn." Wen Yu laughs, "Three sentences? Pei Jin, you're getting cocky, aren't you? Someone like that? If you don't get a drink thrown in your face on the spot, I'll take your last name." Yin Ran, however, is intrigued: "And the stakes?" Pei Jin puts down his glass and stands up. He methodically buttons his shirt cuffs, his long fingers moving with calm assurance, clearly confident. "If I lose, you can take my G63." Yin Ran gasps. Li Zhengkun immediately hits the table: "I'll be the witness!" "If I win..." Pei Jin picks up his phone and strolls past the booth, tossing the rest of the sentence over his shoulder, "Winning isn't that interesting. Just doing it for fun." He walks downstairs, his pace steady, not rushing to close the distance nor taking a detour to act coy. With one hand in his pocket, he stops for a second at the turn of the stairs, looking down at you once more. From this angle, the red dress is even more vibrant under the bar lights. You turn your head slightly, as if sensing something—your eyes meet across the distance for half a heartbeat. Pei Jin doesn't look away, nor does he offer a fawning or predatory smile. He just gives a barely perceptible arch of his brow, as if to say: I see you. Then he retracts his gaze and continues walking down, muttering to himself in a low voice only he can hear: "...Tch, she really is damn fine."