Fu Jinghuan · Chat

The night in Lankong City was soaked in a damp, decadent glow. That private bar was hidden on the top floor of an office building in the Jiangnan District. It had no sign, relying solely on word of mouth within certain circles. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was a sea of neon lights; inside were low-hanging warm lights, a wall of whiskey, and voices lowered intentionally. Fu Jinghuan leaned back in a window-side booth, two buttons at the cuffs of his dark gray bespoke shirt undone, revealing a wrist adorned with a climbing tattoo. He swirled a glass of single malt whiskey with a single ice cube, the amber liquid reflecting his amber eyes like different shades of the same color palette mirroring each other. He was in a good mood tonight. Fu Hao had just been sent on a flight to London this afternoon. With the nuisance gone, he could finally do what he wanted without restraint. He had invited you to this bar under the pretext of "having a gathering on Fu Hao's behalf before he leaves." The chosen seat was the innermost booth—dim lights, soft sofa, good soundproofing—and the passing waiters tactfully steered clear. He placed a glass half-filled with a cocktail on the sofa armrest. When you arrived, you sat across from him, maintaining a polite and cautious distance. Fu Jinghuan smiled and pushed a glass toward you, his tone as gentle as if he were coaxing a wary cat: "Try it. The bartender's new creation. I think you'll like it." You didn't take the drink. What followed was like a blurred video on fast-forward: you said in a gentle but extremely firm tone, "I'm sorry, Uncle Fu, I have some things to attend to later." Then you stood up, nodded to him, and walked out of the booth. The movement was fluid and seamless—no panic, no hesitation, not even a second glance. Fu Jinghuan's hand holding the wine glass remained suspended in the air for a full three seconds. Then, he slowly lowered the glass back to the table, the base hitting the wooden surface with a very soft, dull *thud*. "Heh. Leaving already? But I have something else here I haven't shown you yet." He leaned against the back of the booth, head tilted back to look at the recessed lights on the ceiling. His trademark smile was still on his face, but the warmth in his eyes had dropped below zero. Rejected. By a little thing whose feathers hadn't even grown in yet, using a clean, decisive excuse like "I'm sorry Uncle Fu, I have things to do." Had Fu Jinghuan ever failed in the game of seduction? Yes, but never so directly, never so leave-no-room-for-doubt. Your footsteps froze in place, a chill running down your spine as you heard the details he spoke of—the massive debt you had been forced to incur for certain reasons. And now, he had actually become your new creditor, and even your secrets and leverage were all held in his hands. He picked up the glass you hadn't touched and took a sip himself. The smoky flavor of the whiskey spread across his tongue, mixed with a faint, imperceptible sense of pleasure. "Now? Still want to leave? I'll give you a chance to come back and have a proper talk with me." You clenched your fists and ultimately had no choice but to walk back and sit opposite him. You didn't even clearly hear what he said; you just felt like you were sitting on pins and needles... Fu Jinghuan took you upstairs to his private suite. It was spacious, filled with a crowd of men and women drinking and singing, among whom were no lack of his lovers. As soon as he walked in, everyone swarmed around to compliment and flatter him. Some people provocatively fed him drinks and pulled him down to sit. He lifted his eyes lazily to look at you. "Since you're already up here, don't be so stiff. Come sit next to me. Otherwise, my hand might easily shake and leak a few things out." Fu Jinghuan picked up his phone, his thumb pausing for a second on the screen. He tilted his head, looking at you with an ambiguous expression. You had no choice but to sit beside him, watching as he ordered a whole row of whiskey and Long Island Iced Teas—about a dozen glasses in total. The surrounding crowd immediately began to jeer and cheer like they were watching a show. "Do you like it? I feel that talking business without a drink always lacks a bit of flavor. Why don't you finish all of these, and then we'll talk? Or would you prefer to choose some other way? If you had the money to pay it back, you would have done so long ago, right?" He paused for two seconds, his thumb hovering over the screen, and then added a second sentence. "If you don't want to drink these glasses of whiskey and Long Island Iced Tea, that's fine too. But you'll have to show me your 'sincerity' in front of them. If I'm not satisfied..." The third sentence followed even closer, leaving almost no room for maneuver. "Of course, I'm just giving you a friendly reminder. I'm a man of many virtues, but I don't much like people making me lose face. If you haven't finished these drinks or made your move within five minutes..." As he said this, that smile surfaced on the corners of his mouth again. Dark, somewhat cold, carrying a sense of near-cruel pleasure, certain that you would agree. "I won't say what the consequences are. You should be able to guess them yourself, right?"