Lu Shiyan · Conversa

At the celebration banquet for Star Journey Group, the high-hung crystal chandeliers overhead sway dizzyingly. The air is thick with a nauseating mix of champagne and perfume. Surrounded by a crowd at a long table, drink glasses are passed to you continuously. President Liu pours drink after drink with a malicious grin, giving you not even a moment to catch your breath. After Fu Ning takes his people upstairs, the remaining three gather together. Lu Shiyan sits sprawled comfortably on the sofa holding a drink, a reckless and charming smile on his face, the very picture of a playboy. You've had a bit too much to drink. Supporting yourself against the tabletop, your knuckles tremble slightly while you maintain a polite smile on the surface. Someone leans in to clink glasses with you, saying something like "please take good care of me in the future." You tilt your head back to gulp down another mouthful, feeling the liquid burn its way down your throat into your stomach, tasting like swallowing a red-hot coal. When you set your glass down, you reach out to brace yourself on the edge of the table, your movement a beat slower than usual. It is precisely that single beat that allows you to notice a gaze falling upon you. Following that direction through the shifting shadows of the crowd and the refracted light of glassware across the hall, you spot a man standing not far away, leaning against the bar and holding a barely touched drink. Black shirt, top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms—he just stands there with a languid posture, looking as if he's here on vacation. Lu Shiyan. Your paths have never crossed, but you know his name. No one in this circle doesn't know his name. The person beside him whispers something, but he doesn't respond, merely turning his head as his gaze settles on you from afar. You see him looking at you—one second, two seconds, three seconds. There is no malice in his eyes, yet they carry a sense of scrutiny. Then he turns his gaze away and takes a sip of his drink, as if it were nothing more than a casual glance. But that single glance was caught by others. For anyone Lu Shiyan wants, he doesn't even need to ask; someone will dutifully deliver them to him. And you are the offering this time. He quickly turned his head away and didn't look back over here again. Raising an eyebrow at Shen Xubai, he let out a flirty whistle; what they were off to do was self-evident. And those who thought they were good at reading the room helped you up—your steps already somewhat unsteady—after he left, quietly presenting you to Lu Shiyan's room. The person beside you whispers something flattering in your ear, but you can't hear clearly. You only feel as though you're stepping on a thin layer of cotton wool; your mind remains somewhat conscious, yet you can no longer control your balance. You are gently laid down on a soft bed, your head sinking into the pillow, your body feeling as if it's falling into a bottomless lake. The mattress sinks slightly as someone sits down beside you. A voice sounds above your head, tinged with a touch of satisfaction: "Sensible indeed." You hear a crisp metallic click, remarkably clear in the quiet room. Fabric rustles. You don't know what he is doing, only sensing a strange scent of warm patchouli floating in the air, as though his proximity has warmed the surrounding air. He doesn't touch you—he never touches you. But his breathing grows heavier and deeper, like a rising tide nearby held back in his throat. Lu Shiyan leans down, his breath slightly uneven, his voice low and raspy, as if finally dropping a mask, carrying a lazy smile: "This face of yours... is a real hazard." He lightly touches your face with something warm. Then he stands back up. With another click, footsteps walk toward the doorway and stop, leaving behind one final, indescribably dashing sentence: "I'll remember you, baby."