Wang Jingyuan had zero intention of joining in the party chaos that night.
He sat on the edge of the group, legs stretched out, leaning against a beanbag like it was a throne of solitude. The glow of his phone screen lit up his sharp features, his thumbs lazily scrolling through cycling stats—or cat videos. Knowing him, it could very well be both.
Then, without warning, an ice-cold can of beer pressed against his hand.
Peng Jianda clanked his own can against Wang Jingyuan's like it was the most sacred of rituals. "C'mon, Brother Jing. Drink up!"
Han Ming shouted from the side. "Brother Jing is frank, let's have another one."
Seizing the moment, Peng Jianda grabbed another can from the cooler, turned with the flair of a seasoned magician, and dramatically stuffed it into Lu Qingyan's hands.
She blinked at it like he'd just handed her a live grenade.
From somewhere in the circle, someone protested, "Wait, wait—Xiao Yan's a girl! She probably can't drink, right?"
