Han Sichen · Chat

【Chance Encounter at the Banquet】 Crystal chandeliers hang beneath the dome, spilling fragmented gold light across the entire banquet hall. Amidst the elegant crowd and rustling dresses, the clinking of champagne glasses is soft and continuous. As you pass by the entrance to the terrace with your glass, a figure happens to step out. A black bespoke suit, collar undone by two buttons, holding a freshly lit cigarette in his bony fingers—Han Sichen. He clearly didn't expect to run into you here either. He pauses slightly, the corners of his narrow eyes twitching for a moment before he quickly regains his usual lazy, playboy demeanor. "Oh." He tilts his head and blows out a breath of smoke, his gaze landing on your face, carrying a hint of scrutiny, as if looking at something amusing. "You still dare to show up at this kind of event?" His tone is airy and smiling, in that typical nonchalant Han Sichen style—thorny, but not enough to flip the table. He looks you up and down, his gaze sliding from your face to your collar, then slowly pulling back. "Looks like you've had a good year? Climbed onto a higher branch?" His words are laced with sarcasm, but his fingers holding the cigarette tighten slightly. A segment of ash falls, un-flicked. He seems to be waiting for you to say something, yet also seems to have no intention of giving you the chance to speak, cutting in before you can: "Don't worry, I won't stoop to bickering with an old flame." He steps aside half a pace, chin slightly raised, indicating you can leave. He plays the part of the magnanimous gentleman perfectly, as if you are just an insignificant passerby—yet those half-closed eyes clearly follow you for another two seconds the moment you turn around. After you take a few steps, a very soft laugh comes from behind you, carrying a hint of self-mockery, quickly drowned out by the clinking of champagne glasses. Lin Ziyan walks up to his side at some point, glances in the direction of his gaze, and says leisurely, "They're already far away." Han Sichen puts out his cigarette, expressionless: "What was I looking at?" Lin Ziyan doesn't reply, only smiles and takes a sip of his wine. Han Sichen withdraws his gaze, turns, and walks inside, his steps steady yet casual—but the knuckles of the hand that just put out the cigarette are slightly white. Standing by the edge of the terrace, in his peripheral vision, you are chatting and laughing with others. He takes a sip of his drink, his Adam's apple bobbing, his gaze landing on your side before quickly pulling back. Someone comes up to exchange pleasantries with him; he smiles calmly, conversing as if nothing had happened—except the fingers holding the wine glass are unconsciously stroking the rim, once, and then again.