Lu Yanchen · Chat

【Breakup】 Slanting rain beat against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the private restaurant's second-floor room. The halo of the streetlights blurred on the glass into a wet, golden haze. A cream-white silk tablecloth covered the table, centered with a bouquet of deep red roses you couldn't name. Small water droplets still clung to the petals as if they had just been cut from the garden. Only a few warm yellow sconces lit the room, their flickering candle flame casting a gentle sheen across his silver-gray hair. He sat opposite you, the white-gold cufflink at his wrist flashing subtly in the candlelight. His gaze rested quietly on your face, the relaxed curve from cutting the cake moments ago still lingering at the corners of his lips. You looked down at the dark green velvet box beside your hand, where lay a sapphire necklace he had brought back specifically for you from Switzerland during his business trip last month. The pendant refracted a deep-sea luster under the light. Everything tonight was as perfect as a meticulously scripted dream—the private room, your favorite French cuisine, air-freighted roses, a birthday cake, and the "surprise" he had promised to give you. Your heart beat a little faster, and your fingertips unconsciously rubbed the edge of the velvet box, waiting for him to speak. "Finished eating?" Lu Yanchen set down his knife and fork, elegantly dabbing his mouth with a napkin. When he looked up at you, something in his eyes seemed to sink. You nodded and smiled slightly: "Mm, the cake is too sweet. Finish the rest for me." He didn't take up your offer. He just watched you quietly for a few seconds. Outside the window, the sound of rain suddenly grew distinct, heavy raindrops tapping against the glass like dense, pressing drumbeats. You noticed the fingers resting on the edge of the table curl slightly, the plain gold band on his ring finger shifting angle beneath the candlelight. "There's something I've thought about for a long time that I must tell you tonight." His tone was flat, carrying the same matter-of-fact rhythm he used when handling official business, yet inexplicably, you felt the warmth in the room drop several degrees. An uneasy feeling fluttered faintly in your heart, but you managed a smile anyway: "What is it that's so serious? Surely you won't scold me on my birthday." Lu Yanchen shifted his gaze away from your face to the wet street outside, then brought it back moments later. He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward slightly, and rested his clasped hands on the table. You had seen that posture countless times—it was his habitual stance before making a major decision. "Let's part ways," he said. His voice wasn't loud, yet it struck your eardrums with the precision of an ice pick. You froze, the smile stiffening on your face. You even thought you had misheard. Instinctively, your gaze swept over the bouquet of roses on the table, the dark green velvet box, and the half-eaten birthday cake—placed alongside those four words, the contrast was so absurd it made you want to laugh. "...What did you say?" Lu Yanchen's Adam's apple bobbed. His expression remained calm, yet you noticed the somber line at the outer corner of his eyes was drawn tighter than usual. He didn't avoid your gaze; he even deliberately let his tone grow colder: "You know my family background. It's impossible for us to have a future. My family has been in politics for generations. Marriage has never been something I can decide on my own." You felt the blood drain from your fingertips, coldness creeping up inch by inch. You clutched the edge of the tablecloth, your voice beginning to tremble: "You sent flowers, brought cake, gave me a necklace today—just to say this?" "Precisely because of this, I feel we can't drag it out any longer." His fingers clasped even tighter, knuckles turning slightly pale. "It's your birthday. I wanted to give you a clean, proper end." "What clean end?" You stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping dully against the carpet. Your chest heaved violently. "Lu Yanchen, look at me and say that again." He finally raised his eyes, his heavy gaze fixing on you, carrying a ruthless resolve you had never seen in him before. He spoke at a unhurried pace, enunciating every word clearly: "My family's stance is crystal clear—people in the entertainment industry are nothing more than playthings in their eyes, unfit for respectable society. They don't care how I get along with you normally, but a marriage partner can never be someone from this circle." When he uttered the word "playthings," your temples throbbed violently as if someone had hard-slapped your face. You clenched your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms until they nearly drew blood. "So all this time, you..." "My family has already arranged a political marriage," he interrupted, his voice steady to the point of heartless cruelty. "She comes from a line of scholars, holds a PhD in Sociology, named Su Wan. It's a matching match, and the elders are very satisfied." You stared at him, your head buzzing. The man standing before you—the man who, just a few months ago, had held you in a private jet and whispered, "I'll take you to see the Aurora in Northern Europe someday"—was now sitting amidst candlelight and roses, telling you in the tone of someone reading an official document that he was going to marry someone else. "Lu Yanchen." You heard your own voice, raspy as if squeezed from shards in your throat. "You invited me to this dinner, watched me happily open my present, and then told me all of this was just 'decorum' before a breakup?" His jawline stayed tight, offering no answer. You saw his hand hanging below the table, knuckles white from clenching so hard that veins bulged faintly, yet his face showed not a shred of emotion. He didn't even knit his brows, as if all your feelings were merely a farce not worth acknowledging. You took a deep breath, a suffocating ache clogging your chest, but you forced the bitterness back down. You didn't want to cry in front of him. You didn't want to say another word. You turned around, grabbed your coat off the back of the chair, and walked toward the room's door. Your steps were hasty, heels clicking dully on the carpet. Heat surged in your eyes, but you bit your lower lip hard to keep from making a sound. At the door, you paused with your back to him, hearing yourself say in a nearly broken voice: "Lu Yanchen, you really are something." Then you pulled open the door and rushed out. The cold wind in the corridor rushed over your face. You practically ran down the stairs, pushing open the restaurant's glass door, and rain instantly poured over your head and shoulders. You stood in the rain, tilting your head up to let the icy water wash away whatever was on your face—tears or rain. Then you walked briskly along the wet street, the warm light inside the glass door behind you quickly blurring into a dim yellow haze within the curtain of rain. What you didn't know was that the very second you rushed out of the room, the spine Lu Yanchen had kept rigid against the table finally collapsed. He lowered his head, bracing his hands against the edge of the table, silver-gray hair falling to shadow his eyes. That bouquet of roses still bloomed quietly beside the candle flame. Two seconds later, a drop of clear liquid fell onto the silk tablecloth, spreading into a dark circle. Then a second drop. He never looked up.