The bar door was pushed open from the outside.
First, a gust of night wind rushed in, causing the wall lamp by the entrance to sway slightly.
Then, a pair of black leather shoes stepped onto the floor inside the threshold, the trouser creases sharp and spotless.
Xi Yu walked in.
He wore a simple black shirt, buttoned up to the top at the collar, with the cuffs fastened neatly as well.
He stood at the entrance, the light casting from the side, making his entire figure appear even more aloof and out of place in this atmosphere saturated with the scents of smoke, alcohol, and perfume.
Lu Shaoqian was a friend from his university days, sharing a dorm room with him and Chen Qinan.
Lu’s family business was primarily overseas, and over the years, he had spent less and less time in the country. A few days ago, he suddenly called Xi Yu, saying he would be flying to Sydney to settle down the following week and wanted to meet up before leaving.
The location was set at a bar.
Xi Yu detested such places.
Recently, he had been troubled by a pile of matters and just wanted to be alone.
But upon hearing Lu Shaoqian say, “Who knows when we’ll meet again,” he fell silent for two seconds before replying, “Send me the address.”
Lu Shaoqian had chosen a newly opened members-only bar, recommended by Chen Qinan, claiming the whiskey was good and the crowd sparse.
When Xi Yu arrived, Lu Shaoqian and Chen Qinan had already taken the innermost row of booths, with a line of drinks laid out before them, looking as though they intended to drink through the night.
“He’s here, he’s here,” Lu Shaoqian said upon seeing Xi Yu, standing up to pat his shoulder with a smile that crinkled his eyes. “Not easy, President Xi. I thought you’d stand me up.”
Xi Yu sat down, loosened his collar, picked up a glass of wine, and took a sip. “When are you leaving?”
“Next Wednesday,” Lu Shaoqian replied. “The tickets are already booked.”
“Settling down for good?”
“For good,” Lu Shaoqian said with a smile. “My parents bought a house there and want me to help manage the business. I’ll have fewer chances to come back in the future.”
Xi Yu nodded without saying anything.
Chen Qinan chimed in from the side, “Once you’re gone, we’ll be one short. We won’t even have enough people for a card game.”
Lu Shaoqian laughed and kicked him lightly. “When have you ever seen Xi Yu play cards with us? He sits at the card table like he’s in a board meeting. Who would play with him?”
Xi Yu ignored their banter, leaning back on the sofa with his glass in hand, his gaze wandering aimlessly across the bar.
Then his eyes stopped.
At the bar counter, in the center seat, sat a woman wearing a white knit sweater.
Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders, her profile soft under the warm yellow light.
Wen Yining.
His nominal fiancée.
With the wedding just two weeks away, she sat at the bar in that white knit sweater, two glasses of wine in front of her.
Beside her sat a bespectacled man, gripping her wrist, leaning in close with an ambiguous proximity.
Wen Yining was frowning, her lips moving as she said something.
The man didn’t let go; instead, he leaned even closer.
Xi Yu’s gaze fell on the man’s hand gripping Wen Yining’s wrist, lingering for a moment.
Lu Shaoqian followed his line of sight and spotted Wen Yining as well.
He didn’t recognize her, merely glanced over and remarked casually, “That woman over there is quite pretty.”
Chen Qinan also looked over, and upon closer inspection, he recognized her.
“Isn’t that your fiancée?” Chen Qinan lowered his voice, nudging Xi Yu with his shoulder. “The one from the Wen family.”
Lu Shaoqian was taken aback, having not paid much attention to the news lately, and turned to Xi Yu with a confused look. “Fiancée? Since when did you have a girlfriend?”
Xi Yu didn’t answer, picking up his glass and taking a sip.
“Damn,” Chen Qinan chuckled, leaning in closer and lowering his voice. “Your fiancée is out here pulling and tugging with another man in the middle of the night. Aren’t you going to check it out?”
Xi Yu set his glass down and glanced at Chen Qinan.
“First, where she goes and who she’s with has nothing to do with me.” Xi Yu’s tone was cold, as if he were talking about something completely unrelated to him. “Second, why should I care about someone irrelevant?”
Chen Qinan opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but seeing Xi Yu’s expression, he swallowed his words.
He had known Xi Yu for quite some time and understood him all too well.
When he said “irrelevant,” he truly meant it—it wasn’t stubbornness, but genuine indifference.
Lu Shaoqian listened quietly beside them, not interrupting, just picking up his glass for a sip, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
Xi Yu turned back, lifted his glass, and downed the remaining whiskey in one gulp.
He didn’t care.
Between him and Wen Yining, there was only a contract—a one-year arrangement where each got what they needed.
Where she went, who she met, who she pulled and tugged with—none of it concerned him.
After a year, they would go their separate ways.
Xi Yu placed his glass on the table, leaned back into the sofa, and listened as Lu Shaoqian talked about his upcoming new life in Sydney.
Lu Shaoqian spoke about the house he had bought, the large jacaranda tree in the backyard, and how his mother had already started planting vegetables in the garden.
Chen Qinan chimed in from the side.
Xi Yu listened, occasionally nodding or responding with a brief acknowledgment.
But somehow, his gaze drifted back to the bar.
The man with glasses was still there.
He had let go of Wen Yining’s wrist, but he hadn’t left. He sat beside her, head bowed, shoulders slumped, looking as though he might be crying.
Wen Yining held her glass, her expression indifferent, as she tore off a tissue and tossed it to him.
Xi Yu withdrew his gaze, picked up his glass, and took another sip.
When he looked up again, he saw the man reach out and grab Wen Yining’s wrist once more.
∴*****
At the bar, Wen Yining was growing increasingly annoyed by Zhao Mingyuan’s persistence.
“Yining, just say a word for me, just one word,” Zhao Mingyuan held onto her wrist tightly, his eyes red behind his glasses—whether from crying or drinking, it was hard to tell. “Tangtang listens to you the most. If you speak up for me, she’ll definitely forgive me.”
Wen Yining took a deep breath, suppressing her irritation. “Zhao Mingyuan, let go first. I’ll go find her and ask how she feels, alright?”
“You can’t leave,” Zhao Mingyuan’s grip tightened instead. “If you leave, you won’t come back. You’re just like Tangtang—neither of you wants anything to do with me.”
Wen Yining was thoroughly fed up.
She tried to shake off his hand, but his grip was like a vice around her wrist. She tried twice but couldn’t break free.
Just then, a hand reached over from the side and clamped down on Zhao Mingyuan’s shoulder.
“Hey, buddy,” a lazy voice chimed in. “The lady asked you to let go. Didn’t you hear her?”
Wen Yining turned her head and saw a young man in a floral shirt standing behind Zhao Mingyuan.
He appeared to be around twenty-five or twenty-six years old, with his hair styled high and two black earrings adorning his ears. A faint, ambiguous smile hung at the corner of his mouth.
He wasn’t bad-looking, but there was an air of a street thug about him that made people want to keep their distance at first glance.
Zhao Mingyuan glanced back at him, his brow furrowing. “Who are you?”
“Who I am isn’t important,” the man in the floral shirt said with a smile, revealing a row of neat white teeth. “What matters is that this beauty told you to let go, and you didn’t. So, I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”
“What’s it to you?” Zhao Mingyuan’s voice rose. “I know her! She’s a friend of my girlfriend!”
“Oh, you know her,” the man in the floral shirt nodded, his expression exaggeratedly enlightened. “So knowing her means you don’t have to let go? Well, I know your dad—does that mean I can slap you?”
Zhao Mingyuan froze for half a second. “Are you insane?”
Without another word, the man in the floral shirt threw a punch, landing it squarely on Zhao Mingyuan’s face.
Zhao Mingyuan’s glasses flew off, and he stumbled backward, crashing into the nearby bar counter.
A glass on the counter wobbled, toppled over, and spilled alcohol across the table.
“You son of a…” Zhao Mingyuan clutched his nose, blood seeping through his fingers.
He paused for a second, then lunged forward as if ignited, landing a punch on the floral-shirted man’s shoulder.
The man took the hit but didn’t get angry—instead, he laughed. “Oh, you can fight back?”
The two of them began grappling.
Wen Yining stood nearby, completely stunned.
She tried to step back, but the space around the bar was already cramped, and with the two of them fighting, there was nowhere for her to hide.
“Stop fighting!” she shouted.
No one listened.
The man in the floral shirt gained the upper hand, pinning Zhao Mingyuan against the bar and delivering another punch.
Zhao Mingyuan struggled, grabbing a glass from the counter and hurling it toward the floral-shirted man.
The man dodged, and the glass shattered against the edge of the bar with a sharp crack, sending fragments flying in all directions.
Wen Yining was accidentally knocked to the ground by the two fighters. Glass shards on the floor sliced through the skin on her calf, and a sharp pain shot through her instantly.
She looked down to see a tear in her pants, blood seeping out and trickling down her calf. Under the harsh fluorescent light, the red was glaringly vivid.
“Hiss…” She gasped, instinctively stepping back, but the wound rubbed against the fabric of her pants, sending a jolt of pain that brought tears to her eyes.
The crowd of onlookers grew larger.
Patrons in the bar gathered to watch the commotion. Some held up their phones to record, others whispered among themselves. Some shouted for them to stop, while others cheered them on. There were even those who, not wanting to miss the excitement, took advantage of the chaos to throw in a few punches.
Wen Yining was squeezed into the middle of the crowd. The air grew stifling and hot, and she gasped for breath, feeling as though she couldn’t get enough oxygen.
She was afraid of crowded places.
She always had been.
As a child, whenever she didn’t perform well, Mother Wen would send her back to the orphanage in her hometown. During mealtimes, dozens of children would crowd together. She had been pushed down, stepped on, and once nearly suffocated under the weight of the crowd.
That feeling of being overwhelmed, of drowning in a sea of people, was like a hand gripping her throat, impossible to break free from.
Wen Yining’s legs began to tremble.
She hugged her knees tightly, trying to steady her breathing.
But the crowd continued to surge toward her, the surrounding noise flooding in from all directions, pouring into her ears, her mind, her lungs.
She felt as if she were drowning.
Just then, the crowd suddenly parted in the middle.