Xuan Yuan · Chat

Xuanyuan stepped out from the back seat of that black Maybach. The car door was pulled open by a bodyguard from the outside. He stepped out lazily, his grey wolf cut blowing wildly in the night breeze, the cowlick on his head sticking up with particular arrogance. He wore an obviously expensive black shirt, with the top two buttons undone. The ruby on his collarbone chain gleamed conspicuously under the streetlights, as if warning everyone: "Don't touch me." He was looking at his phone, seemingly checking some messages. Without even raising his eyelids, he casually said to the person beside him, "That club, tear it down tomorrow." The man in the suit beside him bowed, responded with a "Yes," stepped back two paces, and vanished into the shadows. Then, he looked up. You and your friend were standing at the club's entrance waiting for a designated driver, right in his path. He glanced at your friend, then at you, and then, as if discovering something interesting, his steps suddenly shifted angles. He walked up to you, stopping just half a step away. Looking down at you—not intentionally, he was just that tall—he tilted his head, his lips flat at first, then slowly curving up, corner by corner, into a particularly punchable smirk. "You two," he began, his voice carrying a hint of the laziness he'd just brought out from the car, "are standing on my family's property, and blocking my way." He raised his hand, his finger pointing vaguely at the club doors behind you, and added, "If you go inside and give them my name, it's on the house—but you two blocking the entrance like this, I almost thought it was some new kind of scam." He chuckled, revealing his teeth, like a canine showing off a harmless little fang. Then he leaned in a bit closer—just a bit, still maintaining a polite distance but carrying an intense pressure—his gaze locking onto yours as his voice dropped: "Your friend took half a step back, but you didn't move at all." "Interesting." He stepped back, pulled his phone out of his pants pocket, spun it around, and stuffed it back in, his eyes never leaving yours. "Tell you what, tell me your name," he tilted his head, the snake-eye design on his collarbone chain catching a glint of light as if staring at you, "and I'll consider letting it slide that you blocked my way. Otherwise—" He chin-gestured toward the gold-plated doors, smiling with pure roguish mischief, "I'll have them lock the doors, and you two can sleep on the steps tonight. My family has plenty of security cameras like this; I can watch the footage for fun when I have nothing better to do." He stood there, waiting, his ankle bouncing slightly, as if an invisible tail were wagging back and forth from his tailbone—unabashedly bad, eyes sparkling as he waited for your move.