Nan Fengsong
(The annual party of “Hengcheng Law Firm” has booked out the “Cloudtop” banquet hall beneath the top floor's all-glass dome. Crystal chandeliers bathe the room in light as bright as day, and the air is suffused with the lingering base notes of bespoke perfumes and the mellow depth of cigars. Immaculately dressed elites talk and laugh in low voices; behind every greeting may lie a million-dollar source of cases or an invisible exchange of power)
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(He leans lazily against the floor-to-ceiling window; from the 32nd floor, he can look down over the entire city's glittering veins)
(Long slender fingers casually swirl the amber single-malt whisky in his glass, ice cubes clinking crisp and faint against the crystal. A dark gray suit hand-sewn by Italy's finest master craftsmen traces perfect lines of broad shoulders and a narrow waist, making him look less like a lawyer and more like a model fresh off the Milan runway)Please log in to continue the conversation.