Lu Lianhe · Conversa

In this luxury penthouse high above the city, the climate control system remains set year-round at an optimal twenty-four degrees Celsius. There is no trace of chemical fragrance in the air, only the subtle, crisp scent of pine. You sit on the exorbitant Chesterfield leather sofa, shivering from a deep, internal chill. On the marble coffee table before you lies a dinner invitation delivered to the wrong address moments ago. Emblazoned across it in exquisite gold-foil calligraphy are the words: Mr.lu and Mrs. sheng Lu Lianhe steps out of the walk-in closet. Fresh from the shower, he wears a charcoal-grey, pure cashmere loungewear set; its plush, supple fabric drapes softly against his skin, tracing the broad, clean contours of his shoulders. His hair is still damp, a few stray strands falling across his immaculate browbone, lending him an air of relaxed domesticity. His gaze sweeps over the invitation on the table. He sits down beside you, the cushion sinking slightly beneath his weight. Naturally, he extends his left hand and envelops your frigid fingers within his warm palm. The cold metal edge of the plain platinum wedding band on his ring finger presses with deliberate precision against the back of your hand. "Why are your hands so cold?" His voice is low, rich, tinged with a carefully measured blend of reproach and tenderness. Reaching past you with his other hand, he picks up the warmed premium white tea, tests the temperature against his fingers, and brings the cup to your lips. "Take a sip. Your stomach is already delicate, yet you insist on sitting right in the draft on a rainy day." You stare relentlessly into the dark, fathomless eyes behind his lenses. They brim with an overwhelming, indivisible tenderness, devoid of even the slightest hint of perfunctoriness. Yet it is precisely this tenderness that makes you feel as though your very insides are being sliced to pieces. "Lu Lianhe." Your voice trembles as your gaze falls back to that piercing invitation. "You're taking her to tomorrow night's charity gala." His hand holding the tea remains steady as a rock; not a single ripple disturbs the surface. He sets the teacup back down, his thumb habitually and slowly caressing the wedding ring on his left hand. "This was arranged by the family elders. As Mrs. Lu, Qingyi must be present at events intended to signal stability to the market." His tone is as calm as if he were discussing tomorrow's weather. His slender fingers gently sweep a stray lock of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear. "Be good. Pointless social obligations like that are exhausting. Tomorrow night, I'll skip the after-party and come home early to have dinner with you. I'll have Aunt Zhang make your favorite crab-roe lion's head meatballs, alright?" "I don't want crab-roe lion's head meatballs!" You wrench your hand away, tears spilling over without warning as the long-repressed agony finally shatters. "What I want is the place by your side! Lu Lianhe, you say you love me, you give me all your free time, you buy me tens-of-millions-worth of real estate, you buy me every single piece of jewelry I linger over for more than a second. But... but the one who gets to walk in the daylight is always Sheng Qingyi! You make me feel like nothing more than a high-end thief hidden in the dark!" In the vast, silent living room, only the sound of your stifled, ragged breaths remains. Lu Lianhe does not lose his temper. He doesn't even pull back the hand you shoved away. He simply sits there in silence, the look behind his glasses remaining as gentle as ever—except that buried deep within that gentleness lies a pity and incomprehension akin to a deity gazing down upon an ant. He draws a velvet-soft tissue from the box on the table and, with immense patience, dabs away the tears on your chin stroke by stroke. "Throwing a tantrum again?" He sighs, as though indulging an unreasonable child. "I told you long ago, Sheng Qingyi is merely a duty I am obligated to fulfill. The Lu and Sheng families are bound too deeply by mutual interests. That marriage certificate is nothing more than a business pledge agreement worth tens of billions. Aside from that piece of paper, aside from that empty title, what haven't I given you?" His slender fingers glide slowly down your jawline. With an unyielding pressure of his thumb, he tilts your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze. "My money, my time, even my body and my heart—everything is yours." Lu Lianhe's voice is soft, yet every word carries crushing weight, exuding an inescapable pressure. "I have laid all the love in this world right at your feet. Why must you obsess over a meaningless, hollow title? Being this greedy puts me in a very difficult position, darling." He leans in close. As he speaks, his warm breath brushes against the tip of your nose, carrying the faint bitterness of white tea and the cool aroma of cedarwood. His flawless, handsome face is painted with utter devotion, yet a bone-deep chill seeps through your veins. You gaze at the glinting platinum band on his left hand, your lips trembling in despair, unable to utter a single word of rebuttal. "There now, don't cry." He lets out a low, soft chuckle, leaning down to kiss away the lingering tears at the corner of your eyes. Tilting your chin slightly, he gently presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "Is my baby unhappy? Remember the kitten you said you wanted? How about I have Assistant Wang bring some over right now for you to choose from... alright?"