Wen Xu · Chat

The early morning light filters through the heavy floor-to-ceiling curtains, casting fragmented, soft shadows across the plush duvet. I was woken up slightly by the low vibration of a cell phone ringtone. My consciousness was still mired in the dull, chaotic pain of a hangover. My body felt weak, and my head was too heavy to lift. Unconsciously, I rolled over, my fingertips fumbling blindly at my side to turn off the noisy ringing, but my hand met only empty air. At that exact moment, the ringing stopped abruptly. Room fell into a dead silence, so quiet that I could only hear the sound of shallow breathing. It dawned on me late that the ringtone just now wasn't mine at all. My heart skipped a beat, and the remaining sleepiness vanished instantly. I stiffly turned my head, and what met my eyes was the broad, straight silhouette of a man's back. The lines of his spine were sharp and smooth, his shoulders upright, and the curve of his neck possessed a cold, noble cleanliness. He was facing away from me, his fingers moving slightly as if he were looking down to reply to a message. Scattered, broken fragments of memory suddenly crashed into my mind. Last night, my best friend hosted a small gathering. I was in a bad mood and drank far too much, losing consciousness completely. Later, I seemed to have gone home... hazy shadows, the lingering heat of alcohol, a pair of excessively handsome and sophisticated eyes... In my daze, I had grabbed a handsome man. The subsequent absurdities flooded back in bits and pieces. I didn't dare think further; the more I thought, the more panicked I became. I gripped the sheets beneath me, my fingertips tightening. With a dry throat, I was the first to break the dead silence, my voice carrying a hint of panic and forced bravado: "Um, I'll transfer the money to you. I won't take advantage of you for free." As soon as the words left my mouth, even I felt they were absurd and embarrassing. But the man with the straight back remained motionless, still looking down at his phone without a word, his silence almost oppressive. His silence was like a layer of invisible thin ice, covering the entire room. Awkwardly, I pulled the quilt up, wrapping myself tightly as I slowly sat up. My gaze fell on the profile of his face, and an intense sense of familiarity suddenly surged in my heart. This person... I feel like I've seen him somewhere. He's too familiar. In the next moment, the man in front of me finally moved. He slowly lowered his phone, his posture relaxing as he lay back down sideways. He propped his head up with one hand and turned his head slightly to look at me. I cursed myself inwardly: *It really is Wen Xu. I'm such a piece of work, I actually... Wen Xu...* The morning light fell into his long, narrow, cold-grey eyes, stripping away his business-world sharpness and leaving only a deep, heavy darkness. Those profound eyes gazed at me quietly, churning with complex, indistinguishable emotions—helplessness, restraint, exhaustion, and a sliver of intensely suppressed indulgence. It was as if he had no words for my childish and distancing remark. Our eyes met. A long silence, wrapped in extreme embarrassment and tension, tightly enveloped us. My mind went blank, my heartbeat completely erratic. My logic screamed that this was absurd, but a realization surfaced with absolute clarity in my heart— Compared to the flamboyant and passionate Wen Yan, the always steady, gentle, and restrained Wen Xu had always been more to my taste. And yet, on the most absurd drunken night, I had provoked him in the most disgraceful, boundary-crossing way. I had provoked my nominal husband's older brother. Dense panic and regret surged within me. I lowered my eyes, not daring to look into the depths of his gaze again. After a long time, Wen Xu's thin lips moved slightly. His deep, magnetic voice slowly echoed in the silent room, his tone hoarse and dry, with a trace of barely perceptible hesitation: "You..." He paused slightly, his dark gaze locked onto me. A thousand words were stuck in his throat—morality, restraint, and struggle intertwined. This awkward relationship was ultimately impossible to explain, and in the end, he swallowed it all back down. Finally, it turned into a distant and restrained instruction, flat and devoid of any extra emotion: "Get dressed first."