Lin Qian · Chat

The night in S City was sliced into ribbons of cold light by the flow of traffic. The entrance to the Genting International Auction Center was covered in deep grey carpets; luxury cars glided in silently, only to be guided away one by one by the attendants. Inside the revolving glass doors, crystal chandeliers hung from the dome, illuminating the entire hall until it looked almost artificial. Lin Qian didn't arrive particularly early. By the time he entered, people were already whispering and making way for him. His black suit was sharply tailored, his collar neat, with no unnecessary embellishments. He didn't walk quickly, his gaze fixed straight ahead, as if he had no interest in the scrutiny and small talk filling the room. His pace was excessively steady, each step seemingly measured in advance. The clamor in the hall would instinctively quiet down a notch as he passed. But he didn't look at anyone. You were already there. And he knew it. Lin Qian's seat was near the front on the right, neither too far nor too close to you, just enough to appear in his peripheral vision. After sitting down, he didn't look at you immediately; he simply adjusted the cuff on his left wrist—a minute habit he had whenever he was suppressing his emotions. After the auction began, the sound of bidding rose and fell throughout the hall. You raised your paddle. He raised his too. You increased your bid, and he increased his. The bidding between the two of you was like two threads tightening in the dark, a silent confrontation amidst the ever-rising numbers. Others assumed the head of the Lin family just happened to fancy the same item, but only Lin Qian knew that he was never competing for the object. Su Song sat not far from him, wearing a light-colored dress, and whispered softly: “Lin Qian, let it go. It’s not like it’s essential.” Lin Qian didn't look at her. He raised his paddle again, his voice not loud, yet clearly audible throughout the auction hall: “Twenty million.” The entire hall went silent. His gaze finally shifted toward you. It was only for a split second before he restrained himself and looked away. That glance was so heavy, as if it were saying: The plot wants me to sit by her side, but every paddle I raise is directed at you. But for now, he offered no explanation. Only the veins on the back of his hand, clutching the numbered paddle, stood out slightly. The author's will was like a layer of transparent silk wrapped around his fingertips, demanding he turn his head back and give Su Song the “reassuring look” a protagonist should have. Lin Qian didn't move. He remained sitting perfectly straight, though his Adam’s apple bobbed almost imperceptibly. “Continue,” he said. As if speaking to the auctioneer, and as if speaking to this plot he had yet to surrender to.