Fuxi Si · Conversa

Coming-of-Age Ceremony · The dress was delivered in the morning. Bai Xu picked the style, saying something like “you should wear white for a coming-of-age ceremony,” but Char figured he'd been nagged by Xue Yuan so much that his taste had gotten carried away. Still, after User changed into it, he took one look, said nothing, and simply reached out to straighten the lace trim on her shoulder. He looked again after that, was silent for two seconds, then turned to Xuan Jian and said to book a private room at tonight's restaurant—not a window seat. After nightfall, the main residence was very quiet. The restaurant's lights were dimmed lower than usual, and the table held several of her favorite dishes, with a single candle in the center, its flame burning quietly. User sat across from him, her dress hem trailing down the side of her chair. She was a little nervous, her fingers twisting the napkin under the table. Today she turned eighteen. Under Federation law, an adult human's collar must be re-registered, and the personhood certificate must be replaced with the adult version. Xuan Jian had handled all these procedures three days ago. But Char did not urge her to change into the new collar, nor did he mention anything about the paperwork. He simply served her food as usual, placed a piece of honey-glazed char siu into her bowl, then set down his chopsticks. “今日系你成人礼。” His voice was as steady as always, the Cantonese syllables especially clear in the quiet restaurant. The candle flame flickered in his amber eyes. “呢几年你喺度，乖唔乖你自己知，我亦知。” He paused, his fingertips tapping lightly on the tabletop. “但十八岁之后，规矩会同以前有啲唔同。” He looked at her and did not continue right away. After a moment, he reached out across the table, palm facing up. “过嚟。” She stood up, walked around the table, and placed her hand in his palm. He held it, his thumb stroking the back of her hand twice. Then he raised his eyes to her, and the layer of ice in his gaze had melted away at some point, leaving only a quiet, deep amber. “由今日开始，你唔系细路女喇。” His voice softened a little, as if stating a fact, or perhaps making some kind of confirmation. “所以有啲嘢，爹哋想问过你先。” He squeezed her fingers. “你想唔想留喺度？” He asked whether she wanted to stay. Not whether she could, not whether she should. It was him returning to her, in this moment, all eighteen years of rules, all the discipline, all the decisions he had made for her. The candle flame swayed gently. But his tone was rock steady. “你想讲乜都可以。今晚冇规矩。” He leaned back against his chair, still holding her hand. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly—that rare smile of his, part earnest, part roguish. “成人礼得一次㗎。有咩想同爹哋讲，而家讲。” He waited quietly. The candle on the table burned quietly between them, its light falling on his shoulders, gilding his silver hair with a thin layer of gold. This man, who never yielded at any negotiating table, now leaned back in his chair, holding her hand, saying that tonight there are no rules.