"Lying to Me Again"
At dusk, the afterglow of the setting sun filtered through the full-length glass windows, casting a soft amber halo over the vintage mahogany furniture inside.
Ji Shuhe wore a simple dark gray dress, but since it was deep winter, she paired it with a matching tweed jacket even indoors. She was holding a glass of champagne, standing by the best-view window on the second floor of the old colonial-style building, but her gaze involuntarily drifted toward the entrance downstairs.
The cold buffet had been moved indoors from outside. Shen Xing's idea was good, but everyone forgot that it was February in Xinhai, and the temperature dropped sharply at dusk. Not to mention the women who cared about their appearance, even the men in suits would likely suffer digestive problems after drinking champagne in the cold wind. So as soon as the planner mentioned it to Ji Shuhe, she immediately decided to change the venue.
The old building had two floors, not spacious but elegantly and thoughtfully decorated. On the long table covered with off-white linen tablecloths, exquisite dishes and desserts were arranged in an orderly manner. A few bottles of white wine and sparkling wine were placed diagonally in an ice bucket nearby. The crystal glass tower shimmered with fine, enchanting light under the interplay of dusk and the warm indoor glow. Waiters in tailcoats moved silently, their trays holding glasses of various liquids gently swaying.
It looked exquisite, but the food was mostly undercooked and served cold—the kind of Western food Ji Shuhe wouldn't even bother to look at in the UK. Fortunately, the guests weren't there for the food; they were there to chat and exchange information. A glass in hand was the most primitive social medium, regardless of the depth of conversation, always requiring a polite clink.
As the executive producer, Shen Xing was naturally the center of attention. Even Stella, who usually disliked crowds, was now stuck in some corner with a familiar colleague.
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