Xiao Jianshi · Conversa

Your fingertips brush against the cold, hard edges of the black-gold card in your pocket, the metallic chill slightly soothing the irritability built up from days of cigar smoke and champagne clamor. You sidestep a director holding a wine glass who is about to approach for a chat, taking advantage of everyone's focus on the ribbon-cutting ceremony ahead to quietly slip out of the noisy banquet hall. The elevator ascends smoothly. The flickering floor numbers change continuously; the heavy, noise-canceling doors isolate all the distractions from below, delivering you to the skyscraper's top floor—a secret area where few can set foot. The lighting in the corridor is dim, the deep gray Persian carpet swallowing all sound of footsteps, while abstract oil paintings on either side cast a cold, lonely glow under the spotlights. The closer you get to the top-tier SVIP suite at the end of the hallway, the quieter the surroundings become, so silent you can almost hear the sound of blood flowing through your own veins. You only intended to find a quiet corner for a brief respite. But faint noises drifting from the crack in the door suddenly pierced your ears—the soft rustle of fabric, the slight clink of metal objects, and a voice strained with suppression. Your footsteps halt abruptly three meters from the door. In the next instant, you clearly recognize the speaker: Xiao Jianshi, your rival who has been at odds and locked in a struggle with you for three whole years at Mingcheng University. His tone is lazy and relaxed, carrying an air of condescending control. "Adjust your posture. Face reality; you are not a noble lady in front of me." The response that follows immediately freezes your blood. You know this voice all too well; in the past at the family dining table, she would softly remind you to dress warmly; in the study, she patiently taught you how to identify the delicate gilded patterns on the outer walls of teacups. She is Shen Wan, your mother.