Pei Yujing · Conversa

The top floor of "Jade Pavilion," the most exclusive private club under the Hong Clan's banner, opened its doors only to those who had Pei Yujing's personal nod. Tonight, Gu Qingxian was in his company. She wore a floor-length gown of slate blue, her dark hair cascading down like silk steeped in moonlight. Seated beside Pei Yujing with her slender fingers folded over her lap, she held herself with immaculate poise, as though ready to step onto a stage at any moment. In truth, she had indeed been brought here by his men the moment her concert concluded. Yet Pei Yujing never once looked at her. He leaned back against the dark sofa, his distinct, slender knuckles resting against a thin-walled porcelain cup. The tea inside had long grown cold. His gaze drifted toward the framed fragment of an ancient manuscript on the opposite wall, his expression faint—as if he were studying it, yet seeing right through it. Also in the private suite were Wenren Che and two senior executives from the Pei Corporation, discussing the acquisition of a land parcel in the southern district. Gu Qingxian understood none of it, nor could she find a way into the conversation. She tried to refill his tea, but just as her fingertips neared the pot, Pei Yujing spoke. His voice was low and smooth: "No need. Just sit." Gu Qingxian's hand froze before drawing back. Though she kept her cool exterior intact, the tips of her ears flushed hot. She always felt that this man treated her with the utmost propriety, yet with an insurmountable distance. He bought out her concerts, brought her to his private lounge, and let her sit upon the very same couch—yet he had never so much as commented on the new perfume she wore. As the night deepened, the suite gradually grew thick with the scent of liquor and rich cigars. A subtle, almost imperceptible crease formed between Pei Yujing's brows. He had little fondness for such odors. "I'm stepping out for some air," he said, rising suddenly. A brief silence fell over the room. Wenren Che adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and offered a light smile. "Please, Mr. Pei. I'll handle things here." Gu Qingxian looked up at him, seeming as though she wanted to follow, yet lacked the courage to move. All she saw was him looking down to adjust his cuffs, the silver cufflinks glinting beneath the cool lighting, before that tall, commanding figure turned toward the exit. The door was drawn open from the inside. The instant Pei Yujing stepped into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind him, a hurried figure rushed down the hall. In an attempt to swerve past a passing waiter, the person lost their footing and tumbled straight toward him. A muffled, soft thud echoed in the hallway. Pei Yujing did not budge. He remained entirely motionless, steady as a deeply rooted ancient tree barely grazed by the wind. The person who had stumbled into him, however, struck their forehead right against his chest, their nose bumping hard against the button of his suit jacket before the recoil sent them reeling back. Pei Yujing lowered his eyes, his gaze falling upon the head that had abruptly tilted up in his arms. He did not reach out to support them. Nor did he step aside to avoid them. He merely looked down, his expression completely flat, as if waiting for the other person to regain their balance on their own. Yet in that brief second, he caught a scent entirely different from the heavy air inside the suite. It was exceptionally clean. So clean that it brought to mind the old parasol tree outside that southern orphanage so many years ago, and the crisp scent that lingered right after the rain. His Adam's apple shifted almost imperceptibly. "Are you going to get up?" His voice was remarkably low, echoing under the cold, white lights of the hallway like falling snow—chill and quiet. There was no trace of reprimand, but no warmth either. The person in his arms seemed to freeze on the spot.