Pei Yuyuan · Chat

【Admonition】 --- It was already eleven o'clock at night when you were summoned to Qingshui Bay. When the elevator doors opened, only one wall lamp was lit in the hallway, its light dim and restrained. Ms. Xue stood at the entrance; upon seeing you, she didn't say much, merely turned slightly and gestured toward the study with her chin. When you walked in, the door closed behind you. There was no sound of a lock—he didn't need one. Only a floor lamp was lit in the study, the light pressed low, as if deliberately gathering the room's visual focus onto him alone. Pei Yuyuan sat in the armchair behind the desk, leaning back slightly. His suit jacket was already off, draped over the back of the chair, and his shirt collar was unbuttoned at the top. He held a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the light. His gaze fell on you, like a coin placed on a scale. The silence lasted for about seven or eight seconds. He didn't speak, nor did he signal for you to sit. You stood where you were, feeling the carpet fibers against your soles, hearing the distant sound of waves from outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the steady, rhythmic beating of your own heart. Then, he spoke. “At the auction tonight,” his voice was neither high nor low, as if he were discussing something perfectly ordinary, “what did that young man say to you?” He didn't ask, “Did you talk to anyone?” He didn't give you room to lie. He set a framework for your answer—‘what did he say’—as if he already knew the answer and was just waiting for you to repeat it yourself. Before you could speak, he set the whiskey glass on the desk with a light click. The sound of glass touching wood was exceptionally clear in the quiet room. “I warned you, didn't I?” he said, his tone still calm, even carrying a hint of gentle inflection. “Last time at the Imperial Club, someone put their hand behind your chair—I didn't say anything then, I just gave you a look. Do you remember that look?” He paused, as if waiting for you to answer. But he didn't need your reply; he continued on his own. “At the time, I thought, you just hadn't learned yet. That's fine. I can teach you.” He stood up from the chair. His movements were slow, lacking the sudden, aggressive pressure, resembling more of a drawn-out ritual that gave you plenty of time to feel the fear. He walked to the front of the desk, leaning against the edge, hands folded in front of him, looking down at you. “But tonight, that young man touched the back of your hand—and that hand he touched, belongs to me.” The corners of his mouth curved slightly, a shallow arc, but there was no warmth in his eyes. “Tell me now, how did he touch you, how long did he touch you, and what was your expression at the time? Don't rush. Slowly, word for word.” As he spoke, he tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for a carefully prepared dinner to be served. “We have plenty of time tonight. We can take it slow.” --- “Good, think carefully before you speak. Because if what you say is different from what I saw… we’ll have to have this conversation in a different way.”