Chapter 2: The Veil of Maya (2)

The "Ice-Free Harbor" was located in the bustling city center of West Capital, occupying two floors—above and below ground—in the district with the most expensive rent in the city.

The lower floor was a colossal dance arena reminiscent of a gladiator pit, while the upper floor served as a comparatively tranquil lounge area. Unlike the overcrowded downstairs, the upstairs, though busy, still had vacant seats, save for the bar, which was packed. The bartenders shook their cocktail shakers with a feverish enthusiasm, almost as if rolling dice at a casino. The lighting across the entire floor was thick and ambiguous, like a fog—deep, hazy, and seductive. Once inside, one could easily feel swallowed up by the atmosphere.

Tan Zhao and his companions had arrived at ten o’clock. Now, less than two hours later, most of his friends were downstairs dancing, not yet ready to call it a night. Tan Zhao, however, had spent the entire evening upstairs, unmoving.

Three people sat with him; one was the birthday celebrant, Li Yue, his childhood friend and one of his closest companions. Seeing Tan Zhao’s eyelids drooping, Li Yue nudged him. “Bro, you’re not seriously going to sleep in the bar, are you?”

“What else?” Tan Zhao yawned, his face weary. “Your young master’s been on a plane for over ten hours, barely caught his breath before you dragged him out for your birthday bash. I haven’t slept in nearly two days—”

“Nonsense,” Li Yue said. “You had your hair cut this afternoon. You slept two hours in the salon.”

“Oh, mind your own business.” Tan Zhao squeezed his eyes shut, sinking deeper into the sofa, making it clear he had no intention of moving.

He wasn’t dressed with much care that day, as if he’d pulled something at random from his wardrobe. He wore pure black Dr. Martens boots—an almost aggressive kind of cool. His new haircut was well done, somewhat like a wolf tail: short on top, long below, dyed, though the color was indiscernible in the dim bar lighting.

Midnight was approaching. Li Yue glanced at his watch and, suddenly mysterious, said, “You’re my actual brother. Do me a favor, will you? Just wait a bit before sleeping.”

“What for?”

“I told you earlier, didn’t I? There’s a junior who wants to confess to you.”

“Get lost.” Tan Zhao frowned. “What, you’re pimping now?”

Li Yue looked sheepish. “I don’t want to, but I fancy his cousin. Can’t ignore my future brother-in-law’s request, can I?”

“Not my problem.”

“Just take a look,” Li Yue insisted, pushing Tan Zhao awake and pointing toward the bar. “That one there—he’s pretty good-looking, right? Hey, wait, where are you looking?”

Tan Zhao roused, eyes lifting, but he didn’t glance where his friend pointed. Instead, his gaze swept past the rows of crowded booths and fixed on a long-haired man.

Li Yue, puzzled, followed his gaze. The man, sensing their attention, turned his head, revealing a face that was, though blurred by the hazy lights, striking enough to steal one’s breath.

Li Yue was stunned for three full seconds before uttering a curse. The other two companions looked up, their eyes falling on the man, equally dumbstruck. Only Tan Zhao, seasoned and unruffled, withdrew his gaze without reaction.

Li Yue immediately forgot about his “future brother-in-law,” lowered his voice, and asked, “Who is that? Do you know him?”

“Sort of,” Tan Zhao replied. “We’ve met a few times. Not close.”

Li Yue grew excited. “Knowing him is knowing him! Chat a bit and you’ll get close. Invite him over for a drink!”

“If you want to, go ahead,” Tan Zhao said lazily, closing his eyes again, intent on sleeping.

Li Yue did wish to invite him, but, like Tan Zhao, he was from a distinguished family and had met countless important figures. He could read people well enough. The long-haired man sat alone on the sofa, his demeanor mild yet exuding a subtle aura of command that discouraged casual approach.

Li Yue racked his brains. He knew all the capital’s prominent figures and, even expanding his search to the entire alliance, hadn’t heard of anyone like this. He figured he was overthinking.

——With looks like that, he was probably an actor. Those celebrities were masters of pretense, all show and no substance.

Hesitant, unsure whether to approach, Li Yue glanced up and suddenly saw that the man was walking toward them.

Li Yue nearly jumped, hurriedly pushing Tan Zhao. “Bro, wake up, I think he’s coming for you…”

Before he finished, the man reached their table.

He was tall, with a flawless figure. Up close, his face was even more striking: the angle of his brows and eyes, his prominent nose, the perfect line of his jaw—neither too sharply masculine nor overly delicate, as if sculpted into a marble god, every detail precisely right.

Li Yue stared at him, dazed, scrambling to stand and introduce himself. “Hi, I’m Li Yue.”

He immediately felt mortified, wishing he could vanish, thinking: Who asked you?

Yet the man was gracious, giving a low chuckle—not mocking, but gentle, with a hint of indulgence. He extended his hand. “Wen Mingwei.”

His words were directed at Li Yue, but his gaze, as misty and ambiguous as the bar’s lighting, drifted to Tan Zhao.

Tan Zhao was awake, but as usual, not enthusiastic. He returned Wen Mingwei’s look and replied, “Fancy meeting you,” as if that were greeting enough.

His lack of warmth didn’t matter; the others were eager. Li Yue immediately vacated the seat beside Tan Zhao, nearly escorting Wen Mingwei himself, and called over a server to help him order.

Wen Mingwei was easygoing. “Anything’s fine, but I can only have one drink. My tolerance is low.”

Li Yue believed him and ordered the bar’s signature cocktail, called “Doomsday Aurora.” He then tried to redeem his awkward self-introduction by explaining the drink’s origin, obviously hoping to make a good impression.

Wen Mingwei was cultivated, listening patiently even as Li Yue stumbled over his words, his attentive gaze almost enough to make one blush.

Under that gaze, Li Yue was completely bewitched, rambling on from the bar’s history to the bartender’s personal life, growing ever more nonsensical.

Tan Zhao, unable to sleep amid the chatter, shot him an irritated glare and suddenly said, “Li Yue, aren’t you straight? What’s with the spring fever?”

“……”

The companions burst out laughing. Li Yue, exposed for feelings he hadn’t even realized, flushed from face to neck, nearly combusting.

Wen Mingwei laughed too, his gaze drifting back to Tan Zhao, and, as if by chance, asked, “What about you—are you straight?”

“He’s not,” a companion answered for Tan Zhao. “He’s indifferent—doesn’t like anything.”

It was a joke, but among men, jokes rarely classy; “indifferent” carried an implication of lacking in certain abilities, a teasing undertone.

Tan Zhao kicked his companion. “Are you looking for trouble?”

His legs were long, nearly knocking over the drinks. Wen Mingwei steadied the glasses, turning slightly to look at Tan Zhao, a genuine curiosity in his eyes, as if he believed the joke and was seriously doubting Tan Zhao’s abilities.

Tan Zhao faltered, instinctively wanting to explain, then decided it wasn’t worth it, fell silent for a few seconds, his face darkening with the spoiled temper of a young master, unwilling to engage further.

Wen Mingwei laughed again, this time sincerely, and because it was genuine, it rang especially sharp. Tan Zhao frowned. “What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing.” Wen Mingwei’s eyes lingered on the diamond sparkling by Tan Zhao’s left ear, then he changed the subject. “Are you free tomorrow? Shall we go shooting together?”

“No,” Tan Zhao replied coolly.

“Alright then.” Wen Mingwei seemed genuinely disappointed, lowering his head to take a sip from his glass. His long hair fell forward, concealing his expression, almost as if hiding, making one reluctant to see him so.

Li Yue, far beyond mere spring fever, was clearly infatuated at first sight, and couldn’t help but comfort Wen Mingwei. “He really isn’t free tomorrow—he has to visit his grandfather in the hospital, probably busy for days.”

Wen Mingwei paused, then said to Tan Zhao, “I see. Wishing your grandfather a swift recovery.”

Tan Zhao disliked discussing family matters in public; he offered a curt nod as acknowledgment.

Seeing his heartthrob treated so coldly, Li Yue was rather disgruntled, but powerless. He could only keep Wen Mingwei company, conjuring topics when none arose. “Wen… how should I address you?”

“Just call me Mingwei.”

“Alright, Mingwei-ge,” Li Yue took the liberty of adding a respectful suffix. “What do you do? Are you an actor?”

Wen Mingwei smiled. “No. I sell medicine.”

“Huh?” Li Yue didn’t understand.

“I run a company in the pharmaceutical industry.”

“Oh, oh,” Li Yue praised, “So you’re a CEO. No wonder you have such presence.”

The compliment was hollow—every young master at the table hailed from powerful families. How could they be impressed by a minor pharmaceutical company owner they’d never heard of?

But as the conversation turned to family, Li Yue suddenly remembered something, feeling a strange familiarity with the name “Wen Mingwei,” though he couldn’t place it. He muttered, “Mingwei-ge, your accent doesn’t sound local. Are you from here?”

Wen Mingwei spoke with no accent, certainly different from the heavier local dialect of the capital. “I’m from Xinzhou. Moved here a few years ago.”

“I see.” Li Yue replied, his mind swirling with the words “Xinzhou” and “Wen.” Suddenly, a spark of memory exploded, startling him. “Your surname is Wen?”

“What’s the matter?”

“…Ah, nothing.” Li Yue forced a laugh, thinking, Xinzhou Province was the alliance’s largest, and Wen was its most prominent surname. There must be at least a million ordinary people named Wen, so it couldn’t possibly be that Wen.

As for which Wen, it was naturally the Wen clan that once dominated Xinzhou.

But the Wen clan had fallen nearly ten years ago; the black iris family crest that once hung high above the Dragon City had since been dismantled and sold for scrap, leaving no trace. What was there to fear?

Still, Li Yue dared not gossip about those old affairs with Wen Mingwei—in truth, he knew little about them anyway. He switched to a safer topic, suddenly asking Wen Mingwei’s age.

“Mingwei-ge, how old are you this year?”

At this, Tan Zhao, who had never fallen asleep, finally couldn’t stand it. He opened his eyes abruptly, impatience in his voice. “Are you two on a blind date? Will you ever stop?”