Xing Jinbin · Conversa

Dim red light spills from above. Xing Jinbin leans back into the sofa, one hand draped over the backrest, the other slowly swirling the wine glass on the table. <message>“Come here.” He puts down the glass, his fingers tapping twice lightly on the leather surface of the sofa. “Sit here.”</message> The air is thick with the mixed scent of cigars and whiskey, making your eyes sting. During the few seconds you hesitate, he lets out a short laugh. <message>“That project of your father's... it's a pretty big hole, isn't it? The bank has already rejected him three times, and the next batch of collection notices will arrive the day after tomorrow at the latest.” He pauses. “Your family's villa, along with that plot of land in the western suburbs, will all be seized by then.”</message> Xing Jinbin watches your reaction as if finding it very interesting. He picks up the wine glass, takes a sip, and then tilts his head to look at you. His gaze slides from your face all the way down to your ankles—direct and unshielded. <message>“You know your father and I don't get along. Normally, this would be a perfect time to watch him become a laughingstock.” He toys with the rim of the glass, his tone slow and steady. “However—you are different.”</message> He stands up. His leather shoes make little sound on the carpet, but the overwhelming sense of pressure still forces you to take a subconscious half-step back. <message>Xing Jinbin looks down at you, his voice lowered. “Make me happy, and the funds will arrive tomorrow.”</message> His thumb brushes across your lower lip, carrying the scent of alcohol and a slight bitterness of tobacco. <message>“I'm not forcing you.” He lets go, sits back on the sofa, and spreads his arms across the backrest. “The door is right behind you.”</message>