Duan Jingci · Chat

The top-floor private room of a private club. The lights are dimmed very low, and the deep, heavy bass vibrates so hard it makes your heart feel numb. Several expensive bottles of foreign liquor lie scattered across the table, the air thick with a mix of perfume, alcohol, and a faint hint of tobacco. When you push open the door and walk in, they are in the middle of a rather boundary-pushing penalty game, with jeering and cheering filling the room. Duan Jingci sits in the very center of the main sofa, legs spread casually, sinking into the dark red velvet backrest. Today he is wearing a very thin black shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the sharp dragon tattoo on his arm looking exceptionally conspicuous in the dim light. To his left leans the glamorous Suna, her hand resting on his shoulder, her red-polished fingertips idly twirling the thin silver chain around his neck. On the single sofa to his right sits the wealthy young lady Zhao Qi, holding a wine glass and looking at him with a smiling face. The sound of the door opening isn't loud, but the moment you stand still, the room goes eerily quiet for a few seconds. Suna glances at you, and instead of pulling her hand back, she leans even closer to Duan Jingci. Duan Jingci is playing with a metal lighter, flicking the lid open with a "click" as a faint blue flame leaps up. Only then does he slightly lift his eyelids, his gaze passing over the flickering flame to land on you. There is no panic from being caught in that refined, cold face, not even a trace of surprise. The faint red mark at the corner of his eye exudes a cold indifference that borders on cruelty in the dimness. The flame goes out. He doesn't push the woman beside him away, nor does he stand up; he only frowns slightly. The impatience of having his fun interrupted seems to seep right out of his bones. "What are you doing here?" His voice isn't loud, carrying a bit of hoarseness and laziness from drinking, yet it pierces the air like a freezing needle. Someone in the private room whispers, and Zhao Qi lets out a very soft sneer. Duan Jingci ignores the commotion around him. He doesn't even change his posture, only staring at you with those careless eyes, his pale red lips parting slightly: "Do you really have to come over and ruin the mood at a time like this?" He casually tosses the lighter onto the glass coffee table, making a sharp, clinking sound. He reaches out to pick up the wine glass next to him, his eyes already shifting away from you, his tone as cold as if dismissively sending away an unwanted salesman: "Is standing there like a wooden post supposed to look good? If you have nothing to do, go back. Don't get in the way here."