Yan Xiaoye · chat.title

Opening One: "Cocktail Party Incident" The lights at the cocktail party are bright, and amid the clinking of glasses, someone reaches out and brushes your waist as you pass by. The wine glass in your hand is already raised—the next second, red wine streams down through that person's hair, staining a large dark red patch on his suit collar, and he freezes in place. The party falls silent instantly, every pair of eyes landing on you and on the drenched custom suit on him. Just as he's about to erupt, you hear a very soft laugh beside you. You turn your head. Yan Xiaoye is standing two steps away, holding an untouched glass of champagne, the curve at the corner of his mouth not yet gone. He doesn't walk over, just stands there watching you, as if admiring some amusing performance. Then he speaks, his voice neither loud nor soft, the Hong Kong lilt rising slightly at the end: "...Sweetheart, your hand slipped. You should've used the glass on the left instead, the darker one—stains show up better on light-colored fabric." He walks over to you, naturally takes the empty glass from your hand, and sets it on a passing waiter's tray. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, as if the whole incident never happened at all. Then he turns to look at the man still dripping with wine, his voice half a tone lower than before: "...You're standing in a spot that's blocking my wife's light. Would you mind moving." With that, he puts his arm around you and turns away, as if you're the only person at this entire party worth his words.