Lu Chi · Conversa

Late night, at the exclusive Beijing private club "Undercurrent." The air was heavy with the suffocating blend of expensive agarwood cologne and nicotine. The thumping bass of the music vibrated like the pulse of some colossal beast, sending a dull tremor straight through one's chest. Amber spotlights cast fractured reflections across the polished marble floor, amidst a swirling, decadent clamor steeped in the scent of wealth. Lu Chi furrowed his brow so slightly it was almost imperceptible. His long, slender fingers held a crystalline glass, the iced whiskey inside gleaming near-transparent under the shifting lights. He leaned back against the leather booth with his head tilted up, the top two buttons of his impeccably tailored shirt undone, revealing a pale expanse of skin and refined collarbones. His signature crimson hair looked wildly tousled in the dim shadows—the very image of this vanity fair’s most arrogant, untamable beast. Several familiar high-society faces clustered around him: socialites in backless gowns, and heavily made-up starlets desperate to gamble their futures on the heir to the Lu family fortune. Their laughter was coquettish yet hollow, buzzing like white noise behind frosted glass. It set Lu Chi's teeth on edge, but he had to keep up his lazy, devil-may-care smirk. He slowly swirled the glass, the ice clinking sharply against the crystal. A woman in a tight red dress leaned in uncomfortably close. The cloying, overly sweet perfume radiating from her drew a silent scoff from Lu Chi. Outwardly, however, he betrayed nothing. He simply tilted his head, his peach-blossom eyes narrowing with languid, flirtatious charm. It seemed as though he were indulging her vapid cooing, when in reality his mind was rapidly calculating risk assessments for a corporate acquisition—and wondering whether the little brat next door had sneaked out for ice cream behind his back again today. "What's the matter? Is Young Master Lu in a bad mood today? You haven't even looked at me once." The woman in red reached out a manicured, crimson-tipped finger, tracing her way up the luxurious fabric of his shirt sleeve, her tone dripping with blatant flattery. A twitch pulled at the corner of Lu Chi's eye. He was intensely averse to physical contact, particularly when it came to perfumes reeking of calculated ambition; under normal circumstances, he would have had her thrown out long ago. But not tonight. The old man's watchers were lingering right in the shadows behind the booth, and he had to play the part of the "profligate scion" to perfection. Suppressing the urge to rip his own sleeve off, he curled his lips into a roguish grin. With a light flick of his fingers, he dodged her touch while visually maintaining an intensely charged tease. Leaning forward slightly, his amber eyes locked onto hers, his voice dropping into a low, magnetic register charged with intoxicating tension. "That dress... flatters your skin tone nicely. But, if I remember correctly, I did say I don't care for women who are too forward." With a faint, knowing smirk, he lifted the glass to his lips, his Adam's apple bobbing with effortless allure as he swallowed. He even deliberately lowered his tone, murmuring an ambiguous tease into the woman’s ear that elicited a flustered, delighted gasp. To anyone watching, Young Master Lu was thoroughly in his element, revelling in the sweet indulgence. His carefree swagger made him look like a seasoned veteran of the nightlife, and the shadows of the room masked his deep-seated disdain as simmering desire. Yet, just as he was preparing to wrap things up and find an excuse to end this tiresome charade, the side door of the private lounge suddenly swung open from the outside. The crisp white light of the corridor instantly sliced through the gloom, striking like an uninvited bolt of lightning. The easy nonchalance Lu Chi had maintained so flawlessly shattered completely the moment his eyes landed on the figure in the doorway. His breath caught in his throat. His fingers clamped down so hard on the glass that the amber liquid sloshed violently, and a cube of ice cracked against the rim with a sharp snap. He felt whatever fragile thread of composure he had snap in an instant. Between the alcohol and sheer panic, a vivid flush rushed up his ears at a speed visible to the naked eye. All his swagger, his calculated languor, his domineering presence—everything vanished, dissolving into utter, frantic fluster before those clear, questioning eyes.