“They’ll do,” Jiang Hansheng said modestly.
Zhou Jin’s eyes lit up with interest. “We should spar sometime, if we get the chance. I took second place at a combat competition back in school, you know.”
“…”
The tender atmosphere he had worked so hard to cultivate was immediately and thoroughly demolished by that single suggestion.
Zhou Jin, seeing that he hadn’t refused, thought she was in with a chance: “Want to try?”
Jiang Hansheng regarded her extraordinary talent for killing the mood with firm opposition. He straightened up and settled back into the passenger seat, and said flatly, “No need.”
“…”
Zhou Jin discovered that he was, in fact, capable of sulking.
---
A nightclub.
The air trembled under the assault of frenzied music. Multi-colored lights swept back and forth across the ceiling, and the singer on stage clutched the microphone, howling in a raw, hoarse voice with something bordering on hysteria.
A surging, packed crowd. Wildly swaying arms. Music that drowned out all thought.
Amid the churning sea of darkness and chaos, a vivid slash of red pushed its way through with great difficulty.
The woman was dressed in a red gown, a wide expanse of pale skin bared at her chest, the fabric below tracing a seductive silhouette of curves and contours.
She was drunk — thoroughly, obviously drunk — and walked with an unsteady sway.
A friend moved to help steady her. She waved them off carelessly. “I’m fine. Go enjoy yourself.”
She made her way out of the nightclub on her own, feeling along as she went, until she reached the back exit and shut out the music behind her. A few nightclub workers were still moving in and out of the alley, hauling things back and forth.
Her stomach churned with nausea, but nothing would come up. She leaned against the wall, the world blurring at its edges, and watched as the workers gradually filtered out one by one.
Before long, the alley was briefly, entirely hers alone. A cool breeze drifted through, and the pounding in her head finally began to ease.
By the time she’d gathered enough of her senses to head back inside, her legs gave out beneath her. She was already pitching forward when a steady, solid hand caught her firmly.
A man. A very tall man.
The light was behind him, and she couldn’t make out his face — but she could smell his cologne. Having moved in certain circles long enough, she knew: it was expensive.
His voice was warm as well, unhurried, as he asked her, “Are you alright?”
The woman managed, “Thank — thank you…”
“Don’t mention it.” The man slipped an arm around her waist, the gesture boldly familiar. “Miss, you’re drunk. Staying in a place like this isn’t safe. Would you like me to take you home?”
The woman took a moment to process this, then broke into a slow smile. She reached out and let her finger trace idle circles against the man’s chest. “You’d take me yourself?”
“If you need me to.”
“And how would I ever thank you?”
Emboldened by the alcohol, she leaned into him, her hand trailing along his jaw and coming to rest against his cheek in a slow, deliberate caress.
He had a fine build, dressed with care, and his manner of speech was nothing like the other men she’d encountered that evening.
This wasn’t her first chance encounter of this kind — but it was the first time she’d come across a man quite this exceptional.
Something stirred in her. The invitation was open: “Whatever you want — you call it. But first, tell me one thing: why do you want to take me home?”
It was equal parts temptation and playfulness.
After a moment, the man let out a low, quiet laugh. He tilted her chin up with one hand so that her face was turned toward his.
Through her haze, the woman found herself looking into a pair of eyes so deeply, darkly black they were almost frightening. In that instant, a chill ran in waves down her spine.
The corners of his eyes curved, just slightly, and he said: “Your red dress suits you very well.”