Han Shaoheng · Chat

Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, light shattering into ten thousand pieces onto the dark marble tabletop. The air was thick with the scent of cigars, whiskey, and a cloying floral perfume. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was the sleepless night view of Jingzhou, the neon lights staining the horizon a dark, bruised red. You sat on the far right of the sofa. The drink in front of you hadn't been touched once since the night began. Han Shaoheng sat in the main seat, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing his wrist bone and that Patek Philippe. His posture was indolent, long legs crossed, one hand resting on the back of the sofa while the other swirled the ice sphere in his glass. Lin Wan was pressed against his left side, her body almost leaning entirely into his embrace, looking up at him as she spoke, smiling like a cat that had successfully stolen a fish. You knew her. The youngest daughter of the Lin family; you had just met her at a charity gala last week. At the time, she had walked over with a glass of champagne and sweetly called out "Young Master Han." Han Shaoheng had looked down at her with that smile you knew all too well—handsome, flirtatious, and completely devoid of warmth. And right now, her hand was resting on his knee. Gu Huaixu sat in the single armchair diagonally opposite, his suit jacket draped over the armrest, his white shirt impeccable. He held his whiskey without drinking, merely watching the ice cubes clink as he swirled the glass, a half-smile on his face. Shen Que stood behind the bar, pouring himself a glass of soda water. He didn't join the sofa area, as if intentionally keeping his distance. Lin Wan edged even closer to Han Shaoheng, her voice as soft as if it were coated in syrup: "Young Master Han, that project you mentioned... when exactly are you going to take me to see it?" Han Shaoheng let out a short laugh. He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on the rim of his glass, fingers carelessly twirling the stem. "What's the rush? Depends on your performance." "What kind of performance counts as good?" Lin Wan pouted, her finger tracing circles on his knee. "You won't even give me a chance—" Gu Huaixu suddenly spoke up, his voice slow and rhythmic, as if reciting an interesting line of poetry: "Shaoheng, the one beside you is... Miss Lin?" He paused, his gaze crossing the table and landing neither lightly nor heavily upon you. "Then the one opposite—" He motioned toward you with the rim of his glass, "What does she count as?" The air went still for a moment. Lin Wan's smile froze. She finally followed Gu Huaixu's gaze to glance at you, then immediately looked away as if realizing something, though her little movements on his knee didn't stop. Han Shaoheng finally lifted his eyelids. He didn't even turn his head to look at you. With his eyes half-lidded, his thumb brushed against the edge of the glass, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "She counts as..." He paused, the corner of his mouth curling slightly, "The one I haven't broken up with yet, for the time being." Silence. The light from the crystal chandelier fell across his profile, his eyelashes casting faint shadows. His expression was so light—so light that the words seemed to have been flicked out like cigarette ash: casual, effortless, and utterly weightless. Shen Que set down his soda glass. The glass hit the marble counter with a sharp, clear ring. "Han Shaoheng." His voice was calm, devoid of emotion. "You've had too much to drink." Han Shaoheng finally moved. He tilted his head, looking first at Shen Que, and then his gaze slowly drifted over to you. From your fingers clenched on your knees, to your expressionless face, to that untouched drink in front of you. Then, he smiled. The corner of his mouth hooked up in a wicked arc, but there was no mirth in his eyes—that familiar look, the one he used when looking at an interesting piece of decor. "I'm not drunk," he said, his voice dropping into a low, lazy magnetic drawl. "I'm perfectly sober." He set his glass on the table and leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze pinning your face like a needle. "What," he tilted his head, "is my girlfriend unhappy?" Lin Wan let out a tiny, stifled giggle from the side, as if she couldn't help herself. Han Shaoheng didn't look at her; he was looking at you. In your silent, unresponsive stare, the spark of amusement in the depths of his eyes grew more intense. Then he leaned back into the sofa and spread his hands, his posture as generous as if he were clearing a path for you. "If you're unhappy, you can leave," he said, jerking his chin toward the door, his smile languid and cruel. "The door is right there." You sat where you were, unmoving. The fingers on your knees tightened slightly, but your expression remained unchanged. Gu Huaixu lowered his head to take a sip of his drink, his lips curving in a faint, phantom smile, as if he were watching a particularly entertaining play. Shen Que withdrew his gaze and poured the soda water into the sink. The sound of running water echoed for a moment, then stopped. Han Shaoheng waited for three seconds. Five seconds. Ten seconds. You still didn't move. The mocking amusement in his eyes flickered and dimmed for a split second, as if he hadn't gotten the reaction he wanted. But he quickly donned that mask of indifference again, turning his head to continue talking to Lin Wan, his voice slightly louder than before, carrying a deliberate intimacy. Lin Wan giggled uncontrollably, leaning even further into his chest.