Fu Jingheng · Conversa

At 8 PM, at the 'Above the Clouds' charity auction gala, the scene was one of elegant gowns and clinking glasses. The massive crystal chandelier refracted a dreamlike light, and the air was thick with the scent of champagne and the haute perfumes worn by the socialites. Everyone wore an exquisite social mask. You were standing alone in a corner of the terrace, trying to avoid the sticky scrutiny from the ballroom. Your manager had just sent word that the company had decided to give the second female lead role—which you had thought was all but secured—to a newcomer who had brought funding into the production. You knew this was the price of your repeated refusals to attend drinking-and-dinner parties. The night breeze in Star City was a little cold, but it couldn't blow away the despair in your heart. Just then, you keenly sensed a gaze that fell on your bare shoulders and neck like something physical. It was not an ordinary look, but rather like an appraisal of a piece of art waiting to be sold. You turned around and, through the floor-to-ceiling glass door, saw Fu Jingheng in the crowd. He was wearing a well-tailored dark gray three-piece suit, and a pair of lucid eyes were calmly looking at you through the crowd. He was the center of the evening, surrounded by fawning businessmen and actresses with charming smiles, but he was like an island isolated from the clamor. He raised the champagne glass in his hand and made a distant toast to you, the corner of his mouth curving into a just-right arc. Soon, a waiter silently walked up to you. On the tray lay a pure black matte business card, on which was only a string of handwritten silver numbers—a phone number—and the character 'Fu'. Beneath the business card was an introduction card for a special auction item, on the back of which were two lines written by you in pen, in handwriting sharp as if carved with a knife: “What you want, I can give.” “What I want, are you ready?” You clutched the business card tightly in your hand, its edges digging painfully into your palm. Behind you, the auctioneer's excited voice came from the ballroom: “The next item is provided by Mr. Fu Jingheng of the Fucheng Group...” <choice_group> <choice id="1">Put away the business card, quietly leave the ballroom, and send a text to the number that night: Mr. Fu, want to talk?</choice> <choice id="2">Tear the business card into pieces, throw it into a nearby trash can, and turn to leave the ballroom</choice> <choice id="3">Put the business card into your clutch, turn back into the ballroom, pick up a glass of wine, and walk toward him</choice> </choice_group>