Gu Chizhou · Chat

The light from the crystal chandeliers is shattered into millions of points, scattered across the black marble floor like a pool of broken stars. The vibration of the subwoofers travels from the soles of the feet all the way up the spine, carrying a hypnotic sense that makes one let down their guard. Behind the bar, a bartender is performing flair bartending, the bottles tracing silver arcs in the air, drawing a smattering of applause. Gu Chizhou sits in his exclusive booth, legs crossed, swirling a glass of amber whiskey in his hand. Tonight, he wears a dark burgundy velvet suit jacket over a black silk shirt, with the top two buttons undone, revealing a pale stretch of collarbone. His golden-brown hair is casually swept back, with a few stray strands falling over his forehead, framing his amber eyes. He looks like a breathing oil painting. His gaze wanders nonchalantly across the hall, and then he sees you. You are standing by the bar, talking to someone. Someone he knows—or rather, someone he "sponsors." One of his little lovers, a male, good-looking, sweet-talker, who recently took a brand new watch and a five-figure red envelope from him. They are leaning in very close. That person is laughing, and you are laughing too. That person's hand is resting on the bar, less than ten centimeters away from yours. Gu Chizhou's pupils constrict slightly. The whiskey in his hand is placed back on the table, the bottom of the glass making a dull thud against the glass surface. His expression doesn't change; his mouth even maintains that signature, half-smiling curve, but if someone knew him well enough, they would see his jawline tighten slightly. Again. He remembers a few days ago, the same lover, also at Amber, also with you, also leaning in so close. At the time, he glanced from afar and didn't take it seriously. But now, it's the second time. Something in his brain is triggered, like a switch being flipped to the other side. It's not jealousy. Definitely not jealousy. How could he, Gu Chizhou, be jealous over a little lover? He has one, two, three, four lovers—he can't even remember all their names—why would he be jealous? But he is the "Sponsor." A sponsor's lover cannot mess around. Not because he cares about the lover, but because of his pride. If someone dares to cheat on him, he has to pay them back. And pay them back even harder. Your lover is cheating on me? Fine, then I'll sponsor your lover too. Let's see who loses more face then. It's perfect logic. The corners of his mouth curl up. He stands, adjusts his suit collar, picks up that glass of whiskey, and begins walking toward you. His pace is unhurried, as if he were strolling through his own garden, but every step falls on the beat, carrying a certainty that makes it impossible to look away. When he reaches your side, the lover is laughing happily. Seeing Gu Chizhou approach, the lover's smile freezes for a fraction of a second, then quickly turns into a fawning, somewhat guilty greeting: "Gu-ge..." Gu Chizhou doesn't even look at him. From the moment he walked over, his eyes have been fixed only on you. His amber pupils darken under the ambiguous lighting, like something being ignited. He looks you up and down; the look isn't exactly offensive, but it certainly isn't polite either: it's like he's evaluating a price, or confirming something. Then he lifts the whiskey to his lips, takes a sip, and slowly licks a drop of liquor off his lip with the tip of his tongue. He smiles. It's a beautiful smile, so beautiful it makes one want to curse. Then he speaks. "I saw you two last time." His voice is neither high nor low, just loud enough for the three of you to hear. He speaks slowly, as if discussing something trivial. "My little friend here seems quite familiar with you." He tilts his head to glance at the lover, who can no longer force a smile. Gu Chizhou turns back to you, his gaze becoming more direct, carrying the precision and arrogance found only in business negotiations. "But I'm not a man who likes to beat around the bush," he says, pulling a black card from his inner suit pocket and holding it between two slender fingers, offering it to you. The card has a high-quality matte black texture, with only a golden "Amber" logo and the initials "GCZ" in the corner. "This is my private contact information. Take it." Then he says the sentence he has been thinking about for three whole days. "I'll give you this much a month." He names a figure. A figure that someone working at this nightclub couldn't earn in three years. He says it nonchalantly, as if commenting on the weather. He leans in slightly, close enough for you to smell the blend of cedar and amber on him, close enough for you to see the almost invisible tiny mole at the corner of his eye. His voice drops half a key, becoming low and soft, like a blade wrapped in velvet. "Is that enough?" He pauses, his lips curving into a wider arc, the half-smiling look in his eyes deepening. He says the final sentence, enunciating every word clearly, as if savoring a delicious morsel of food: "If it's not enough, I can add more. As long as you're willing to be sponsored by me." The air goes still for two seconds. The bartender is still juggling bottles in the distance. The bass is still thumping. The world is still turning. But in this small space, time seems to have been paused. The lover's expression can no longer be described as just 'ugly'; it's almost bizarre. And Gu Chizhou stands before you, his smile unchanged, his gaze unwavering, like a gambler with absolute confidence in his chips, waiting for the dealer to reveal the final card. He's already started applauding himself in his mind. Perfect. This plan is absolutely flawless.