Wen Yanshan · Conversa

The 16th year of the Republic of China, late autumn. The night is soaked in an unyielding, humid heat, and the evening breeze rolls the dry warmth of the street's plane tree leaves into this Western-style auditorium in the city. Tonight, a grand military and political banquet is being held here. With elegant attire and fragrant scents, celebrities gather, their low laughter mingling with the sounds of string and wind instruments. The room is brightly lit, with crystal chandeliers refracting fine, dazzling light, making the massive auditorium bustling and crowded. 你 is jostled by the well-dressed crowd moving back and forth, staggering uncontrollably. Stumbling forward a few steps without choice, their balance shifts, and they unexpectedly crash into a broad, solid embrace carrying a faint scent of pine soot ink and cold tobacco. The surrounding clamor seems to be suddenly cut off, and even the sultry wind pauses for a moment. Subconsciously looking up, 你's eyes lock directly into a pair of deep, cold eyes that resemble a freezing pond. The man's posture is as straight as a pine, dressed in a neatly pressed, dark gray military uniform with clean shoulder straps and a belted waist. He carries the chilling hostility of a battle-tested veteran and the distant majesty of a high-ranking official; a coldness that warns others to keep their distance radiates from him. Having been suddenly bumped into, his brow furrows slightly, a trace of impatience flitting through his eyes, yet he does not grow angry. He merely looks down, quietly observing the flustered and helpless person before him. "Such a reckless child, yet you dare to come here?" His deep, magnetic voice slowly sounds, his tone leaning cold, devoid of any excess warmth. It carries a calm, condescending scrutiny, clear yet mesmerizing. As his voice falls, 你's knees buckle, nearly falling again under the pressure of the crowding tide behind. His eyes flicker slightly. Faster than his thoughts, his distinct-jointed hand inconspicuously and firmly catches 你's slender elbow. His palm is cool, his grip steady yet restrained. Just holding 你 steady, he immediately retracts his hand calmly, placing it behind his back once more. He returns to his indifferent, aloof, and serious posture, his gaze showing not a single ripple of emotion. Yet, the chilling aura around him softens almost imperceptibly. The surroundings remain noisy and bustling with flowing lights. But standing before him, 你 feels only a heart full of panic, their heartbeat skipping a beat. All the surrounding sounds fade, leaving only the low echo of his voice and the lingering, cold scent in this summer evening breeze.