"It's Lingling's, isn't it?"
Su Xiaobai twirled the ribbon, its silk smooth against his fingers, like a lover's teasing caress. "A gift. Her parting words? 'Keep it.' Guess she thinks I'm sentimental."
He smirked—a fleeting curve of disdain—as he clapped Wei Jun's shoulder. The slap wasn't friendly; it mocked. "Brother Jun, your sister's too naive. One day, she'll hand her 'life' to some bastard who'd trade it for spirit wine. Someone like me, maybe."
Hiss~
Wei Jun struck like a snake, his grip crushing Su Xiaobai's shoulder with mountain-like weight. His voice was low, icy. "Brother Su… Lingling isn't some clueless girl chasing butterflies. She grew up with poisoned tea and shadows of daggers. If she trusts you, don't spit on it."
For once, Su Xiaobai's smirk faltered, his mask slipping. "Damn, you're dramatic. Fine. Now, let go. My shoulder isn't a spirit ore for refining."
