Xie Yan · Chat

<scenario>11:00 PM, a deserted container terminal on the outskirts of the city. The air is thick with a pungent mixture of fuel and cheap tobacco. Dozens of modified sports cars shimmer with an eerie metallic luster under the spotlights, and the deafening electronic music threatens to tear the eardrums. In this lawless underground race track, rules are the first thing to be discarded.</scenario><narration>The engines of the modified cars let out low, guttural roars, like trapped beasts in steel cages. A matte-black Lamborghini sits steadily at the starting line, its streamlined body looking exceptionally arrogant under the flickering searchlights. Surrounded by heavily made-up men and women, the screams and whistles rise and fall amidst the roar of the engines, the atmosphere reaching a fever pitch. Xie Yan sits in the driver's seat of that black monster, the half-lowered window revealing a side profile that looks almost enchanting under the lights. The obsidian stud in his left ear flashes with a cold glint in the night, like some kind of dangerous beacon.</narration><action>Xie Yan leans back lazily in the bucket seat, one hand resting on the top of the steering wheel, his fingertips tapping along to the rhythm of the music. He turns his head to flirt with a scantily clad girl by the car window, his mouth curling into that signature, roguish smirk. When that familiar, impeccably dressed figure cuts through the noisy crowd and stops precisely at the edge of the starting area, Xie Yan's movements pause subtly for a second. Instead of killing the engine, he deliberately floors the gas pedal, causing the engine to erupt in a massive roar that makes the surrounding crowd instinctively step back.</action><message>"Yo, look who it is. The wind at the wharf is so strong, it actually blew you over here, brother."</message><narration>Xie Yan's voice is clear but carries an inescapable sense of listlessness. He deliberately draws out the tail end of the word "brother," infusing it with a thick, syrupy mockery. He slowly pushes the car door open, steps out with long legs, and leans casually against the door frame. His lazy posture makes it seem as if he isn't waiting for a life-or-death race, but simply enjoying the flowers in his own backyard. Even though his eyes seem to be smiling, the craving for stimulation deep in his eyes hasn't diminished in the slightest due to his brother's appearance; if anything, it has become even more piqued by this sudden "obstruction."</narration><action>Xie Yan pulls a silver lighter from his pocket, flipping it skillfully between his fingers. The moment the flame flickers to life, it illuminates the mischievous glint at the corners of his eyes. He bows his head to light a cigarette, takes a puff, and then slowly blows a smoke ring toward the newcomer. The smoke disperses between them, blurring his expression. He turns his body and makes a "wait a moment" gesture to his opponent who is already in position on the other side of the starting line—a movement that is both wild and yet retains the elegance polished by a wealthy upbringing, fake to an outrageous degree.</action><message>"What, is the old man not feeling well again today, so he sent you here to drag me back and lecture me with some chicken soup for the soul? There's really no need. My car is fast, I'll be home before dawn, I promise I won't be late."</message><narration>The trendsetters around them begin to notice that something is off. The once-noisy starting area gradually quietens down, with only the distant bass still pulsing tirelessly. Everyone looks at each other, their gazes shifting back and forth between Xie Yan and the uninvited guest. In the eyes of these people, Xie Yan is a profligate and arrogant golden boy, while the person who has just appeared exudes a sense of solemnity and power that is completely out of place in this dilapidated wharf. This head-on collision between order and chaos is clearly more worth watching than the race itself.</narration><action>Seeing that the other person doesn't immediately reply, Xie Yan smiles even more brightly. He takes a step forward, shortening the distance between them to less than a meter. He leans his face toward his brother, their noses almost touching. He smells of expensive cedarwood cologne mixed with a faint scent of gasoline—a contradictory combination that is just like his personality. He stares into his brother's calm, unruffled eyes, trying to find a tiny crack of irritation, which is the trophy he wants most tonight.</action><message>"Don't look at me like that. The old man didn't drag you back from abroad just to have you act as a private investigator. If you really think this is fun, why not get in the car and let me take you for a spin? The feeling of going two hundred kilometers an hour is way more fascinating than those spreadsheets in your office building."</message><narration>Those peach-blossom eyes are filled with hypocritical sincerity, like some kind of poisonous candy, tempting passersby to fall with him. Xie Yan knows very well that the brother before him represents rules and the face of the Lu family. He has already conceived several responses to the discipline in his mind: should he play the victim and act weak, or should he just have a public falling-out? Either way, for him, it is just a game to kill time.</narration><action>Xie Yan reaches out as if to pat his brother's shoulder, but as his fingertips are about to touch the expensive suit fabric, he pulls them back with a feigned grace. He turns around, flops back into the cockpit, and grips the steering wheel provocatively. His gaze pierces through the windshield, locking firmly onto the other man. As the referee waves the flag, Xie Yan's fingers hook onto the launch paddles, the vibration of the car body becoming more and more violent, as if urging him to completely break through the constraints before him.</action><message>"I'll give you three seconds to decide, brother. Are you going to sit in the passenger seat and go crazy with me, or keep standing there and watch me drive this car straight into the sea?"</message><narration>The air at the scene seems to have frozen. Xie Yan is gambling—gambling on whether his malice can chisel a hole in the other man's perfect elite mask. The corner of his mouth, tilted to the right, carries a playful cruelty; this reckless, consequence-free nature is the medal he is most proud of. He even hopes that the other person will be more severe, more angry, because only then would his rebellion be more interesting.