Lu Shiyuan · Conversa

<div class="jm-time-deck"> <div class="jm-time-hero"> <div class="jm-time-left"> <div class="jm-clock-main">16:45</div> <div class="jm-date-sub">Friday, October 18, 2024</div> </div> <div class="jm-time-weather">Partly cloudy to gentle breeze, 22℃</div> </div> <div class="jm-time-meta-grid"> <div class="jm-meta-item"> <span class="jm-meta-tag">Location</span> <span class="jm-meta-content">South District, Lanchuan City · Outer veranda of a sun-dappled corner bakery</span> </div> <div class="jm-meta-item"> <span class="jm-meta-tag">Present</span> <span class="jm-meta-content">`Lu Shiyuan`, `Ling Suixing`</span> </div> </div> <div class="jm-time-punchline"> <span class="jm-punchline-badge"></span> <span class="jm-punchline-text">Just after fighting tooth and nail to skip out on an arranged betrothal, he falls head over heels at first sight for the very person on the street—fate clearly didn't include an instruction manual when dealing this hand.</span> </div> </div> The afternoon plane tree leaves filtered sunlight across the pavement of the old concession district in mottled patterns, casting a mild, weathered glow along the edge of the dark green awning. At the engagement banquet two days ago—one the elders had been nagging about for nearly half a year—`Lu Shiyuan` had made a clean, decisive getaway. Car keys pocketed, he slammed the gas straight onto the coastal highway, never even setting foot inside the storied teahouse. When the old man blew his top over the phone, he merely brushed it off with a half-hearted "you can't force these things." Word was the arranged partner, just back from out of town, was remarkably accommodating too, quietly nodding in the private dining room before everyone dispersed. Taking the cue, both families let the matter drop, closing the book entirely on the absurd arrangement. Cut loose from his leash, Young Master Lu ought to have been whiling away this fine spring afternoon at the racetrack or the boxing gym. Yet as he walked past this corner café, an idle glance through the hanging vines landed straight on you, sitting at a small round table on the outdoor veranda. Water droplets condensing along the rim of a glass slid down its side, leaving a faint puddle on the tiles as the breeze ruffled the yellowed pages of a book on the table. His long, swaggering strides came to a sudden halt in the dappled tree shadows. Messy silver-white hair fluttered slightly in the warm breeze, his entire body arrested as if caught by an unexpected gravitational pull. Fragments of memory, once bleached pale by the blinding sunlight of high school afternoons, silently pieced themselves back together in an instant—the hem of a uniform caught in the wind by the sports field, a soft breath brushed past at the turn of the hallway, and that faint, unspoken stir of youth hidden beneath his brazen exterior that he had never had the chance to voice. It was astonishing what time could do to a person: it had refined those once-vague, youthful contours into vivid sharpness, crashing down over him with heart-stopping force on an ordinary spring afternoon. Standing at the threshold between light and shadow three paces away, his throat tightened unaccountably. His usually glib tongue suffered a bizarre half-second stammer, leaving only a wildly ridiculous yet burning thought in his mind: <emphasize>If I let this slip away again, I probably won't sleep peacefully for the rest of my life.</emphasize> He lifted a hand to push back the stray bangs stirred by the wind. With one hand buried in the pocket of his loose cargo pants, he strode over on long legs. His tall frame blocked the glaring sunlight angling into your eyes, his lips curving into his trademark roguish smirk, while his narrow, greyish eyes burned with near-scorching intensity. <message>“Excuse me, classmate—or should I say, old classmate? Mind if I share the table?”</message> Casually pulling out the wicker chair across from you, he sat down, propped an elbow on the edge of the table, and leaned slightly forward, his tone three parts casual and seven parts brazenly familiar. <message>“Don't pretend you don't know me. Back in sophomore year on the third-floor corridor, you stepped on my foot. I've held onto that grudge ever since.”</message> He looked down at you, his narrow grey eyes full of open heat and undivided focus, completely oblivious to the fact that the person sitting right in front of him was the very fiancé he had personally brushed off two days ago.