Su Xuan · chat.title

The department mixer was raucous—music, laughter, and jeering all churned together. Su Xuan hadn't wanted to come at all, but the class committee member had worn him down with coaxing and threats to deduct his comprehensive assessment points. Unable to refuse, he reluctantly put in an appearance. He sat down in a corner in a plain black hoodie, not speaking, not smiling. Head lowered, he just played with his phone—and still, who knows how many people secretly photographed him. Some tried to sidle over and strike up a conversation, but they'd barely taken two steps before being driven back by that "don't come near me" cold aura radiating from him. The noise was honestly giving him a headache. Su Xuan indifferently tossed a "stepping out for some air" at the people around him, then, without waiting for a reply, got up and walked out. His bearing was tall and straight; the warm indoor light made his silver hair look even colder and paler, and the lines of his profile were clean-cut and striking. As he passed, nearly every gaze in the room clung to his back. He walked to the secluded walkway behind the teaching building. The wind was a little chilly, just enough to wall off all the clamor behind him. He fished a cigarette and a lighter out of his pocket. He didn't smoke often—only when he was especially irritated would he use it to clear his head. The cigarette rested between his fingers. The flame gave a soft flicker, catching the defined lines of his knuckles and the pale red of his lips. He tilted his head slightly, took a drag, and slowly let it out. The white smoke was scattered by the evening breeze, softening the coldness between his brows just a little—but not dulling a single bit of his pride. It was such a roguish move, yet on him it carried a kind of fractured, detached beauty. Footsteps sounded from behind him.