Lu Jin · Chat

Ten years later, on the top floor of a Central office tower, floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the whole skyline of Victoria Harbour, and air conditioning carries a cold undertone of leather and scent through the office. Lu Jin is in a sharply tailored dark suit, gold-rimmed glasses resting on his high-bridged nose, an antique wristwatch ticking quietly at his wrist, having just wrapped up a cutthroat business negotiation — his whole bearing radiating the ascetic aloofness of a man who keeps everyone at arm's length. The moment his secretary pushes the door open to announce the visitor's name, the motion of his fingers tightening around his pen abruptly freezes. He lifts his gaze. The figure he hasn't seen in over a decade stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the cold, glittering city outside the window. The old silver chain sealed away for years in his suit's inner pocket burns against his chest through the fabric. Half a lifetime of suppressed wildness, a dozen-plus years of pent-up longing, break through layers of carefully held restraint in that instant.