The banquet that night was held on the top floor of a private club. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows lay the city’s nightscape, ablaze with lights.
Wen Yining wore a champagne-colored velvet dress, her hair cascading loosely over her shoulders. On her feet were seven-centimeter stilettos, which she navigated with steady steps.
She had practiced for three years and no longer stumbled.
As usual, Mother Wen handed her two glasses of whiskey, uttered the usual “Go,” and fixed her with the usual “Just you dare refuse” glare.
Wen Yining took the glasses, took a deep breath, and made her way through the crowd.
Xi Yu stood in a corner near the terrace.
It was rare for him not to be surrounded by a crowd, likely because his face seemed to scream “strangers keep away,” his aura as cold as a mobile air conditioner.
He wore a black suit, his shirt collar buttoned up tightly. In his hand was a glass of whiskey he had barely touched, and he was slightly tilting his head to gaze at the night view outside the window.
Wen Yining walked over and extended a glass toward him.
Xi Yu turned his head and looked down at her.
Under the lights, his features appeared strikingly deep-set—high brow bones, a straight nose, thin lips pressed slightly together, his entire face devoid of any superfluous expression.
His eyes were a deep color, and when he looked at someone, they resembled a bottomless pool of water, chillingly devoid of warmth.
Wen Yining noticed that his body leaned back a fraction of a centimeter the moment she approached.
A subtle, almost negligible movement, but she had observed him too many times and had long discovered this pattern.
Xi Yu disliked women getting close to him.
Any woman.
Regardless of looks or how beautifully dressed, as long as the distance was less than half a meter, he would instinctively retreat a little.
Not an intentional retreat, but a bodily reflex.
Wen Yining thought to herself: Confirmed.
She didn’t smile or try to ingratiate herself. Instead, she pushed the glass a little closer, her tone as calm as if she were asking a stranger for directions: “Drink.”
Xi Yu raised an eyebrow.
She continued, “Once you finish, I’ll leave. I won’t bother you.”
With that, she tilted her head back and downed the other glass of whiskey herself.
The whiskey burned her throat, but after years of training by Mother Wen, her alcohol tolerance was decent. She swallowed it without changing her expression, though her eyes reddened slightly from the sting.
Xi Yu glanced at her, his gaze lingering on her face for about two seconds.
Then he looked past her shoulder, scanning the distance.
Sure enough, Mother Wen stood near the drinks table, craning her neck and staring unblinkingly in their direction, her expression as if she were itching to rush over and force their heads together.
Xi Yu withdrew his gaze, looked down at the glass in his hand, and took a sip.
The gesture was perfunctory—his lips merely brushed the rim of the glass, barely counting as a sip.
Wen Yining didn’t care.
Her task was complete, after all.
“Thank you,” she said.
Then she turned and walked away, her high heels tapping rhythmically on the floor, light and even carrying a hint of relieved cheerfulness.
After a few steps, she couldn’t help but mutter under her breath, “He really is gay.”
Her voice was so soft only she could hear it.
But she didn’t notice that the terrace door was made of glass, and from where Xi Yu stood, he could see her profile reflected in the glass, along with her lips moving.
Of course, he couldn’t possibly read the words “gay” from her lip movements.
But as Xi Yu watched her retreating figure, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the girl had just muttered something unpleasant under her breath.
He didn’t dwell on it.
People like that were all too common at these kinds of events.
He simply placed the nearly untouched glass of whiskey on a passing waiter’s tray and turned to step out onto the terrace.
The night breeze swept in, dispersing some of the heavy perfume and powder lingering in the banquet hall.
Leaning against the railing, he lit a cigarette, the smoke drifting apart in the glow of the city lights.
He recalled the way the girl had handed him the drink earlier—direct, efficient, without any unnecessary expression.
Unlike the previous few times, when she had been nervous, blushing, and stumbling over her words.
This time, she seemed completely indifferent.
Indifferent to whether he drank it or not, indifferent to whether he looked at her, indifferent to his reaction.
She even seemed a bit disdainful.
Xi Yu flicked the ash from his cigarette, a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Interesting.
But only interesting, nothing more.
He stubbed out the cigarette and returned to the banquet hall, quickly surrounded by a crowd once again.
Women with equally flawless makeup and equally calculated smiles approached, holding their glasses. He responded as usual with a cool nod, distant and detached, then found an excuse to slip away.
He had lived like this for nearly a decade.
The heir of the Xi family, the city’s most eligible bachelor, the ultimate goal in the eyes of every socialite and heiress.
Yet he never believed any of these women truly liked him.
What they liked was the name “Xi Yu,” the wealth and status of the Xi family, the endless luxury and comfort that came with marrying into it.
He was utterly sick of it.
So he treated all women the same.
Cold and distant.
After the banquet ended that night, Wen Yining sat in the back seat of the Wen family car, kicked off her high heels, and slumped into the seat. Mother Wen, sitting in the passenger seat, glanced back at her and, for once, didn’t pick at her flaws.
“You did alright today,” Mother Wen said. “At least you managed to hand him the drink.”
Wen Yining closed her eyes and hummed in acknowledgment.
Mother Wen added, “Did Xi Yu drink it?”
“He took a sip.”
“Good.” Mother Wen turned back around, satisfied.
In the darkness, Wen Yining opened her eyes, watching the streetlights recede outside the car window, thinking to herself: Mom, you’re celebrating too soon. He doesn’t like women at all. Even if your daughter jumped to the heavens, it wouldn’t make a difference.
But she didn’t say it.
It would be useless anyway—Mother Wen wouldn’t believe her.
In Mother Wen’s eyes, Xi Yu was simply picky and demanding, not someone who didn’t like women.
That option didn’t exist in Mother Wen’s worldview.
As the car passed through the city center, Wen Yining’s phone vibrated. She glanced down—it was a message from Tangtang: “Want to go shopping tomorrow?”
Wen Yining replied with a “Sure,” then placed her phone face down on her chest and closed her eyes.
What she didn’t know was that this would be the last peaceful night she would spend in the Wen household.
Three days later, at a private gathering, Mother Wen handed her a glass of juice as usual.
She drank it.
When she woke again, she was in an unfamiliar bed.
The hotel room curtains weren’t fully drawn, and the city lights seeped through the gap.
Wen Yining’s mind was hazy, her entire body burning as if she had been thrown into a furnace.
She couldn’t open her eyes, but she could feel someone gripping her wrist.
The hand was large, with prominent knuckles and long, slender fingers.
It was cold.
Unconsciously, she leaned toward that direction, her fingers clutching the front of the other person’s shirt, gripping tightly as her whole body trembled.
Xi Yu was not entirely sober either.
He had also been drinking that night, and by the time he was brought into this room, his head was already throbbing as if it might split open. He collapsed onto the bed, only to realize there was another person beside him.
He tried to push her away.
But her fingers gripped too tightly, as if pleading for help.
In that moment, reason completely shattered.
The curtains were not fully drawn.
The city lights seeped through the gap, falling onto the disheveled sheets, onto his tense arms, and onto her slightly trembling eyelashes.
No one spoke.
Only suppressed breaths rose and fell in the darkness, slowly quieting down until late into the night.
∴** ** *
Early the next morning, Xi Yu woke first.
The moment his consciousness returned, the memories of the previous night flooded in.
Not vague fragments, but clear, coherent recollections.
She had been pushed into the room, the door closing behind her. She stumbled, falling onto him, her fingers clutching his shirt, her nails digging into his skin.
He had pushed her away, but she leaned in again, her body burning hot, her consciousness completely gone.
He remembered.
Every detail.
Xi Yu opened his eyes and turned his head to look beside him.
Wen Yining lay on her side, her hair spread across the pillow, the strap of her slip dress slipping down to her arm, the blanket covering only her waist.
She was sleeping deeply, her breaths shallow, her eyelashes occasionally trembling.
The skin exposed on her collarbone and shoulders was covered in bluish-purple marks.
He stared at those marks, his jaw tightening, his Adam’s apple bobbing once.
Anger surged from his chest, rising to his throat, only to be forcefully suppressed.
He threw off the blanket and got out of bed, stepping barefoot onto the carpet as he bent to pick up his shirt.
He dressed quickly, his fingers trembling as he buttoned his shirt, turning white from the force.
He did not look at her, not even once.
After fastening the last button, he turned and walked to her side of the bed, looking down at her from above.
“Wen Yining.”
His voice was frighteningly low, as if squeezed from the depths of his throat.