Bab 71: Chapter 71 - Wine stain

Jian trailed behind his silent cousin, his feet heavy as if weighed down by the stares piercing his back. People turned to address his cousin with polite smiles and animated voices, but when their eyes flicked toward him, it was like a door slammed shut. Their greetings faltered, replaced by sidelong glances and barely concealed disdain. Jian could feel it—like the prick of needles along his skin—the way they looked him up and down, dissecting him. He swallowed hard, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Don't look at them. They can't do anything to me, he told himself, forcing his gaze elsewhere. The large windows along the corridor caught his attention. Moonlight poured through the painted glass, splashing the room with a kaleidoscope of colors. By the farthest window stood a slumped, worn-out sofa, half-hidden beneath heavy drapes. It looked like the kind of place nobody would bother to notice—exactly what he needed right now.

Without a second thought, Jian waited until his cousin wasn't looking and veered off course, making a beeline for the spot. The voices and laughter behind him blurred into white noise as he slipped into the corner. He tugged at one of the curtains, pulling it halfway closed to create a makeshift nook. Only then did his chest ease, his breathing slowing to something steadier. He sank into the sofa, leaning his head back and staring at the patterned ceiling.

"At last... alone." His voice was barely a whisper, and yet it felt like a release. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky sigh. "I never knew social gatherings could be this suffocating. Why does Bian enjoy this crap anyway?" His lips curled into a bitter smirk. "That hypocrite would blend in with this crowd perfectly. Not me."

He stared out the window, letting the moonlight soothe his frayed nerves.

"What do we have here? The new Wang son," a voice sneered from his side, sharp and cutting through the low hum of the room. "I heard he was picked up from a slum."

Jian turned his gaze slowly, locking eyes with the speaker. A boy about his age stood there, his bleached blonde hair styled in jagged spikes, his grin wide and mocking. He looked like the kind of person Jian had run into before—the kind who thrived on chaos and cruelty. His friends clustered around him, snickering like a pack of hyenas.

"Oh, look! He's glaring at me. So scary, ah!" The boy exaggerated a shiver, clutching his chest theatrically before bursting into laughter. The others joined in, their jeers grating against Jian's ears. "What are you hiding here for, huh? You're supposed to be the star of the show."

The boy stepped closer, reaching out as if to grab Jian's hand. Instinctively, Jian yanked his arm back, keeping it tucked behind him.

The boy raised a brow, his sneer deepening. "Touchy, are we?" His voice dripped with false innocence. Then, without warning, he tipped his wine glass, its deep red contents spilling onto Jian's pristine white pants.

"Oops." The boy's smirk widened. "My hand slipped. Didn't mean to stain those fancy pants of yours." He tilted his head, pretending to examine the damage. "Don't worry, though. I'm sure the servants can fetch you a replacement. Maybe even a suit that matches this... exquisite gathering." With a casual wave, he summoned a servant who appeared with a quiet bow.

"Sir, this way," the servant murmured, motioning toward a nearby hallway.

Jian didn't move, his expression unreadable. The laughter around him grew softer, tinged with anticipation. It was clear they expected him to react—to lash out or cower. But instead, Jian stood, brushing at the wine-soaked fabric with an air of indifference. His lips curled into a faint, almost bored smile.

What a pathetic little performance. He thought, his eyes flicking over the boy. A trap, most likely. Or maybe they've laid out some hideous rags to humiliate me. How dull.

"No thanks," he said, his voice smooth but laced with quiet steel. Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel, leaving the servant standing awkwardly and the boy blinking in disbelief.

Jian's steps were measured, calm, as if nothing had happened. Inside, his blood simmered, but he kept his composure. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing him falter. That was what they wanted, after all—to see him crumble under the weight of their scorn.

Behind him, the boy's laughter faltered, and Jian allowed himself a small smirk. Bullies like you thrive on reactions. Too bad you won't get one from me.

Jian heard the boy grit his teeth, the sound loud enough to cut through the low murmur of the room. He didn't even bother to turn around. Instead, a small, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips. Why are they all so childish? he thought, shaking his head as he weaved through the crowd.

His wandering led him to a door at the far end of the room. He pushed it open and stepped outside into the cool night air. The garden stretched out before him, dimly lit by strings of fairy lights that swayed gently in the breeze. The soft glow reflected off dewdrops clinging to leaves, making everything look like it belonged in a dream. Most of the guests seemed too busy mingling inside, leaving the garden nearly deserted.

"Perfect," Jian muttered under his breath.

He grabbed a glass of wine from a nearby table and strolled down the stone path until he found a secluded spot under a large tree. The branches stretched overhead like a protective canopy, shielding him from the world. Sinking onto the cool grass, Jian took a sip of the wine.

It was... not great. Bitter with a slightly sweet aftertaste that lingered too long. He wrinkled his nose but kept drinking anyway. It wasn't like he'd come out here for the flavor.

His gaze dropped to his pants, and his smirk returned. The wine stain had spread across the fabric, forming a blotchy shape that, with a little imagination, looked like a lion's head. Jian tilted his head, studying it for a moment before an idea struck him.

If my pants are going to be stained, might as well make it art, he thought with a chuckle.

Dipping his fingertips into the red stain, he began tracing over the edges, defining the shape. A swirl here, a line there—soon, the blotch started to resemble a fierce lion's mane. He leaned closer, concentrating on the details as he added more patterns. His hands were sticky with the wine, and the smell was starting to get to him, but he didn't care.

When he pulled back to admire his work, a small sense of pride bloomed in his chest. The stain now looked intentional, almost like it had been embroidered onto the fabric.

"I've never seen anyone draw with wine before," a voice said behind him, startling Jian so badly he nearly dropped his wine glass.

He spun around, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the darkness. Two strangers stood there, their faces obscured by shadows and the faint glow of the garden lights.

"Tsk," Jian clicked his tongue and stood up, brushing his hands off on his pants. Not a moment of peace, he thought with a sigh, glancing at his "artwork" one last time.

"Whoa, where are you running off to, boy?" the shorter of the two said, stepping forward with a grin that seemed almost too friendly. "I'm just admiring your artwork. Even my friend here likes it. Don't you?" He nudged the taller figure beside him, who remained still.

"Hmm," the taller man replied, his voice low and cold, offering no further comment.

Jian raised a brow, unimpressed. "Is that so? Well, I'm glad you like it," he said sarcastically, his tone as dry as the bitter wine in his hand. Without waiting for a response, he turned and began walking away.

Behind him, the shorter man chuckled, his voice carrying through the quiet garden. "Looks like the boy's grown a spine since last time, huh? Xing, you've lost your fan. Remember how he used to blush just looking at you? Now he's rolling his eyes!" His laugh was loud and unrestrained, completely out of sync with the calm ambiance of the garden.

"Talk less," Xing Yu said sharply, his words cutting through the other's laughter like a blade. The taller man turned on his heel and began walking in the opposite direction, his movements precise and calculated.

The shorter man snorted, clearly unfazed. "Yes, boss. Wait—hold on, I'm the boss here. I'm the prince!" he muttered, crossing his arms in mock indignation.