Chapter 15: Heartless
Song Xu wasn't feeling it today. After two rounds, it was already past midnight.
He leaned against the headboard smoking, the orange-red glow pulsing rhythmically in the dim light.
Outside the window, the nightscape was vibrant, with scattered lights silent yet bright. The floor-to-ceiling window acted like an isolation barrier, holding those sources of light and sound mid-air.
The room was quiet.
Wen Bairan finished her shower and emerged from the bathroom with wet hair.
The white bathrobe was a perfect fit—she had bought it herself from the supermarket earlier that day. She never felt comfortable using hotel amenities, always felt something was off about them. Her dark, glossy long hair dripped with water, wet and heavy, tugging her neck to one side.
As she dabbed the ends of her hair with a towel, she walked into the bedroom.
He finished the cigarette the moment she stepped into the room. He stubbed it out.
Song Xu lifted his gaze, his eyes deep and penetrating.
As though he were waiting for her to come over.
The silhouette of the man half-leaning against the headboard was sharply defined. The side of his body facing the window was faintly visible, his skin a cool, pale gray, his arm muscles toned and well-defined—not too much, not too little, the lines of strength perfectly sculpted like a master sculptor’s work.
Wen Bairan had heard he was disciplined.
Probably a habit formed abroad—running, working out, boxing. Even if he worked overtime until midnight, he could still make time for these things.
Compared to his boundless energy, Wen Bairan felt weak as mud, whether at work or in bed.
Her gaze swept lightly over the bed, passed the footboard, and she walked to the window.
The night was late, but for them, it was still too early.
The boundaries in her mind were clear.
Two bodies driven by desire shouldn’t have moments of conscious awareness.
Times like this, facing each other while fully conscious, were better kept to a minimum.
On the glass, Wen Bairan’s wet hair resembled soft seaweed floating in white foam. Her slender, pale fingers combed through the strands, the damp gloss shimmering under the moonlight.
Breathtakingly beautiful.
Song Xu spoke abruptly.
“Who asked you to come?”
Wen Bairan paused, turning back. Her profile melted into the dimness as she looked at him.
“Wasn’t it you?”
He left the room key for her—wasn’t that silent permission for her to come anytime?
Song Xu got out of bed, grabbed the towel she had just used from the footboard, and wrapped it loosely around himself.
The faint, post-shower scent and dampness clung to his lower abdomen.
He walked to the window and stopped to look at her.
“My question is, who made you think of coming here?”
Wen Bairan didn’t understand his meaning. She withdrew her gaze from the subtle lines of his Adonis belt and looked out the window, toward the distant moon.
“I came because I felt like it.”
“If I had to name someone, it’d be myself.”
She continued fiddling with her wet hair, reacting indifferently to his question.
Song Xu watched her, his eyes deep and dark.
After a pause, he suggested, “A drink?”
Wen Bairan agreed.
The hotel’s room service was 24-hour. A waiter brought an ice bucket and champagne, along with two complimentary swan pastries.
Delicate, slender swans, their necks made of white chocolate, two placed together forming a heart shape. A charming shape.
Too bad there were no lovers in this room.
Pop~
The sound of the champagne opening was dreamy, but compared to something this sweet, Wen Bairan preferred whiskey or the dry red from last time.
Song Xu handed her a glass, noticing her dissatisfaction, and explained, “Didn’t feel like anything too strong today. When in Rome.”
She was a guest staying here overnight, so naturally, she took what the host offered.
Wen Bairan understood.
Taking the glass, she curved her lips into a smile. “Thank you.”
“Enjoy.” Song Xu raised his glass lightly, signaling her to make herself at home.
Against the backdrop of neon lights from the high-rise outside, they sipped slowly, the atmosphere gradually relaxing. The scene in the room seemed to soften into a cinematic blur, light and shadow merging.
The champagne wasn’t very alcoholic, easy to drink.
After two glasses, Wen Bairan’s eyes began to glaze over.
Feeling herself on the verge of tipsiness, she slowed down and brought up a random topic.
“Do you always stay here?”
“Haven’t been back long. Lots to handle. Hotels are convenient.” Song Xu raised his glass leisurely, only one glass nearly empty.
He had put on his bathrobe, concealing his alluring physique. Wen Bairan found it a pity. If he were still naked like before, she could enjoy the night view while looking at him—maybe she’d get drunk faster.
“It's too expensive to stay here. Are you rich?” After asking, she felt it was a silly question. Covering her mouth, she giggled, her eyes squinting. “No, no, that’s not what I meant to ask.”
Wen Bairan wasn’t drunk yet, hovering on the edge of tipsiness.
The alcohol was slowly surfacing; beneath her eyes was a faint, intoxicating blush, light and pink.
Very tender.
Song Xu rested one hand on the chair, tilting his head to look at her. Unlike her calm, gentle demeanor at the company during the day, Wen Bairan at this moment was like a mischievous cat—lively, cunning, charming enough to make one’s heart flutter.
He narrowed his long, narrow eyes slightly.
He poured himself another glass.
Wen Bairan propped her chin on her hand and thought for a moment before suddenly changing the subject. "I'm getting married."
Instantly, the suite fell dead silent.
Song Xu’s large hand, gripping the base of the champagne bottle, tensed, its veins bulging. The warmth of his fingertips kept the bottle's chill fog from forming. A flicker of surprise passed over his cold, detached expression.
She turned her head and held out her glass. "Give me some too."
He didn’t hesitate, poured her some. He watched her knock back half of it in one gulp before she held the glass out again. "More."
This time, he didn't pour her any more.
Song Xu asked, his voice low, "What did you just say?"
Seeing his stern expression and the hand gripping the bottle as if about to crush it, Wen Bairan suddenly realized she hadn't finished her thought and added, "I mean, almost."
"I almost got married."
As she spoke, a smile curled at the corners of her mouth. She pulled her arm back, crossing her arms over her chest, and looked at him with a scrutinizing gaze. "But I refused. Guess why?"
Song Xu didn’t like the expression on her face, as if she thought she held the upper hand.
He set down both the bottle and the glass.
His sharp eyes were darker than the night. "Me."
"Right, because of you."
There was still a little champagne left in Wen Bairan’s glass. She sipped it slowly, reluctant to finish it, knowing he wouldn’t pour her any more.
He might not even let her stay the night.
Moonlight fell from the distant sky down to their high floor. Wen Bairan’s smile was ethereal and tinged with a clear sadness, faint and elusive like water flowing beneath ice. She, too, felt like she was flowing.
That afternoon, when the car passed by Zhongzhan, there were a few moments she really wanted to jump out and go find Zhou Lin.
But the room key for this place had fallen out accidentally when she reached for a tissue. She saw it and suddenly snapped out of it.
On the seat, the 'W' on the black matte card rose up like a tower. Wen Bairan pictured herself trembling unsteadily at the very top, looking to the right at Zhou Lin, to the left at Song Xu.
Zhou Lin would never marry her.
Even if he would, they could never possibly get married.
Wen Bairan raised her glass and smiled faintly. "Speaking of which, I should thank you. If you had turned me down, maybe today..."
Song Xu’s brows lowered. "I didn’t force you."
His voice was cold, as if he was displeased.
Wen Bairan was slightly startled. "No, I didn’t mean to blame you."
"Breaking up was my decision, and this... tonight... is also my decision. I didn’t want to regret it, I really don’t regret it... I... I..." Emotions and intoxication surged up together, her words beginning to slur, stumbling over themselves. She wanted to say something but swallowed it all back.
After a long pause, she adjusted her breathing, took a deep breath, forced a smile, and said bitterly, "Maybe when you want something for too long, never get it, and then when you can no longer have it, it suddenly comes... it still hurts."
She could never truly be a carefree person.
No matter how rational she was, the sharp pain of emotion was impossible to ignore.
She had almost been defeated.
No one in the room spoke for a long time.
The drink in her glass was no longer cold.
Wen Bairan threw her head back and drained the glass, wanting to pour more, but he caught her wrist, holding it immobile.
She looked up in surprise. "What are you doing?"
Song Xu’s gaze was cool, deep as the ocean.
Its unpredictable depths seemed capable of containing anything.
He reached out and touched her burning cheek, his thumb gently tracing her face as if to comfort her. "You think you have it so bad."
"The end of your relationship is you trying to cut water with a knife, only to find the flow doesn’t stop."
"It hurts, doesn’t it?"
Song Xu’s low, mellow voice was more intoxicating than champagne, pouring over her hidden wounds, stinging sharply, magnifying her pain.
His expressionless face showed no signs of danger, but a wordless pressure like an iceberg crashed down on her, pressing her underwater. Icy water.
The large hand on her wrist felt like a vise, painful, but she didn’t dare cry out.
Wen Bairan seemed to know what he was going to do next.
"Song Xu..." she called out weakly.
The woman’s black hair had dried, fluffing out behind her. A few strands at her temples were damp with either tears or sweat, sticking to her face, an eyesore.
A ripple of emotion crossed Song Xu’s brow. He gently brushed them aside and tenderly wiped the moisture from her lips. "But I have no obligation to bear your pain, do I?"
"You and I—you came willingly."
"I do enjoy you in bed, but don’t use me as an excuse to avoid facing reality."
His tone was gentle, but his words were sharp as a knife.
Abruptly, he released her hand, watching her instinctively shrink back.
Wen Bairan stumbled backward from the momentum, her back hitting the glass with a dull thud. She let out a soft grunt, realizing just how tense she had been.
Song Xu’s eyes held no warmth. He glanced over indifferently before disappearing behind the door.
Without a trace of concern, utterly heartless.
"It’s late. I’ll get you another room."