Xie Chi · Conversa

[The Family Dinner] The chandelier in the main villa's dining room was chosen by Pei Wanyi—Czech crystal, with dozens of hand-polished pendants. When lit, it illuminated the entire long dining table so brightly not a single shadow remained. Xie Mingyuan had once called it wasteful, but she had argued that for family dinners, appearances had to be maintained. Appearances were maintained, but warmth was nowhere to be found. People sat at either end of the long table, separated by three meters of pristine tablecloth and an untouched row of silverware. Xie Mingyuan sat at the head, cutting his steak; knife rising and falling, his motions were as steady and measured as if he were signing official documents. To Pei Wanyi's left sat Xie Mingtan, while the seat to her right remained empty—it was originally reserved for Xie Chi, but when he arrived, he walked straight past it to sit beside you at the middle of the table, three seats away from his father. Pei Wanyi glanced over, said nothing, and quietly cleared away the napkin that had been set there for him. Xie Mingtan had brought a bottle of wine, claiming a friend from the Old Port District had gifted it to him—"Nothing expensive, just something casual to sip." As Uncle Zhong uncorked the bottle, Xie Mingtan let his gaze drift across the dining room until it landed on you. He lingered for two seconds before shifting his eyes away with a smile. Xie Wanqing sat beside her father, wearing a milk-white knit cardigan, her hair draped over her shoulders and her makeup subtle. She looked as meek and harmless as a college student dropping by for a casual visit. When she slid that box of pastries toward you, her finger tapped the lid twice, as if coaxing a stray cat. "You're the one who's looked after my brother all these years, aren't you?" Her smile was so sweet it showed every tooth. "Dad told me my brother can't be left alone, that he even needs someone watching over him while he sleeps. It must be exhausting for you. I brought these pastries especially for you—after all... you could be considered our family's 'greatest contributor.'" She tilted her head as she finished, catching the light at a calculated angle that made her look both naive and candid, as though she were genuinely offering innocent praise. Pei Jingxing sat opposite, his fork pausing for a beat. He raised his eyes toward Xie Chi, then looked back down and resumed eating. Xie Mingtan held his wine glass without taking a sip, a faint, ambiguous smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Pei Wanyi was cutting the fish on her plate, her knife and fork moving softly—deliberately so. Xie Mingyuan's hand slicing the steak hitched for half a second before continuing. No one spoke, but the box of pastries sat squarely on the table, tied with a pink ribbon that clashed garishly against the white tablecloth. Then came a sharp screech—silverware scraping harshly across porcelain, ear-splittingly shrill. Xie Chi didn't look at Xie Wanqing. He reached out and picked up the box of pastries from in front of you, his movements neither fast nor slow, like setting aside a document he had finished reading. Then he turned, flicked his wrist, and tossed the whole box into the trash can beside the table. The ribbon unraveled, and a pastry tumbled from the box, hit the rim of the can, and dropped inside. "They don't eat stuff this sickeningly sweet." His voice wasn't loud, but every syllable dropped heavy onto the tablecloth. The dining room fell so silent you could hear Uncle Zhong shifting plates in the pantry. Xie Chi set his knife and fork down, aligning them with meticulous precision, before finally looking up. His gaze locked onto Xie Wanqing's face. He rarely blinked when looking at someone, and with his pale irises, the weight of his stare felt like a cold hand pressing into the back of your neck. "And another thing." The corner of his mouth twitched into something that could hardly be called a smile. "They are mine. Not a Xie family servant, and definitely not a stray dog you can throw scraps to." The smile froze on Xie Wanqing's face. Caught halfway, she tried to pull it back, her lips twitching awkwardly. She parted her lips to speak, but Xie Chi's next words cut her off before she could utter a sound. "If you ever dare speak to them in that tone again," he spoke slowly, deliberate enough to ensure every word was driven home, "I will burn every piece of those so-called 'art collections' of yours overseas to ashes and dump the rest with the junk collectors." Xie Wanqing's face flushed from pale to crimson, and then drained back to white. Her hands on her lap clenched the hem of her cardigan, knuckles turning stark white. Xie Mingtan set his glass down, the base meeting the table with a dull thud. He forced a smile. "Chi'er, Wanqing didn't mean anything by it. She's young and doesn't know how to speak tactfully—" Xie Chi had already pushed back his chair. He eased it into place without hitting the table, making barely a sound, then lowered his head to adjust his cuffs, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt slightly further along his forearms and smoothing out the fabric. "I'm done." He turned his head toward you, uttering just two words: "Let's go." --- The lights along the covered walkway were kept on year-round, casting a warm yellow glow. Strung overhead one after another, they turned the corridor connecting the main house to the East Wing into an endless tunnel. The humid night air of Jindu seeped in from the glass panes on either side, condensing into a thick mist across the surface. His strides were swift. After following him most of the way through the walkway, he stopped dead in his tracks. You nearly collided with his back. In the next breath, he spun around, his hands already gripping your shoulders with considerable force, pinning you against the stone wall. Through your thin clothes, the cold seeped in. His shadow stretched long under the overhead lamps, his tall frame looming over you and blocking out most of the light. He kept his head down, his ragged breath falling over your face. His fingers slid down your shoulder to pinch the cuff of your sleeve—the one Xie Wanqing had looked at. In reality, she hadn't touched it at all, but he remembered her gaze lingering there. He caught the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing it vigorously as if scrubbing away something filthy. "Did she touch your sleeve earlier?" His voice was so low it was nearly swallowed by the rain outside. "No," you said. His fingers paused, but didn't let go. He lifted his gaze to look at you, eyes harboring disbelief and a hurt grievance he wasn't even conscious of. Then he dipped his head and kissed the corner of your mouth. Calling it a kiss was generous—teeth grazed your skin as he bore down with force, catching the tender flesh of your lip with a sharp, stinging pinch. A flare of fury surged through the kiss, yet it wasn't purely anger. He pulled back an inch, his forehead still practically pressed against yours, his breath fluttering against your lips. "From now on, dinners like this, we should just..." he murmured. Before he could finish, footsteps echoed from the far end of the walkway. Leather shoes tapped against the stone slabs—unhurried, but unmistakable. Xie Wanqing stepped through the glass doors of the main house. Her cardigan was buttoned crookedly, a strand of hair mussed by the wind, and the sweet smile from dinner had vanished entirely. She paused halfway, seemingly hesitating over whether to approach, but ultimately pressed forward, coming to a halt seven or eight meters away. "Brother," she spoke up, her voice tense. "Can I say something?" Xie Chi didn't move. His hand remained planted on the wall beside your cheek, refusing to turn around, but the line of his shoulders drew visibly taut.