The morning of the gala dawned colder than expected, a crisp breeze that made the river look like brushed steel. Lin Ze woke with a slight ache behind his eyes – the kind that comes from too many conversations and not enough sleep. But there was no time to indulge exhaustion. Today was not for rest. It was for performance.
He dressed in jeans and a plain black tee. The casual outfit felt like armor against what was to come. Before the tuxedo and the cameras and the chandeliers, he had an appointment with a different audience.
At ten o'clock, he tapped the link Lin Meiqi had sent. Her charity livestream had already pulled in tens of thousands of viewers. Comments scrolled faster than he could read. Hearts, thumbs up, emojis. She sat in front of a simple backdrop with a banner reading: "Support Students, Support Futures." Her hair was braided back, face free of heavy makeup. She looked as unadorned as he felt.
"And here he is!" she said brightly, as his image appeared in a small box on the screen. "The mysterious man who's changing our scholarship game! Everyone, say hello to Lin Ze."
"Hello," he said, giving a small wave.
"First of all," she continued, "thank you for joining us, even though you have a million things to do. Why is education important to you?"
Simple question. Loaded. He thought of his mother, the bills that had choked their lives, the weight of loans, the nights spent studying while friends went out. He thought of the folder Su Yanli slid across the table. He thought of scholarships with names he never knew until he applied.
"Because it's the only currency you can't steal," he said. "You can inherit money, you can cheat time, you can fake status. You can't cheat knowledge. It's yours if you earn it. It's yours even if someone takes everything else."
The comments exploded. "Who is this guy???" "Marry me." "So deep!" "Education icon."
Lin Meiqi's eyes softened. "Well said," she said. "And… some of our donors might be watching. What do you want them to hear?"
"I want them to hear gratitude," he said. "Not to boost their egos, but to remind them that their money has weight. It can crush or it can build. It's a choice."
Five minutes. That was the plan. He glanced at the time.
"And one more thing!" she said. "What are you wearing tonight? People are dying to know."
He laughed. "Something fitted," he said. "And hopefully stain-resistant."
"Oh, that reminds me!" she exclaimed, pulling a small packet from off-camera. "If anyone spills wine on you, use salt. Sprinkle it immediately. It absorbs the stain. Old trick."
He smiled. "You and Professor Qin have the same advice," he said.
"Great minds," she quipped. "Okay, I'll let you go. See you tonight on the red carpet!"
He ended the call and sat for a moment, letting the calm of his apartment settle around him. He realized his heart was beating faster. Live audiences still unnerved him, even through a screen. But he also felt lighter, as if speaking to thousands of strangers had siphoned away some tension.
He changed into the tuxedo. The tailor had been right. It moved with him, not against him. He tied the bow tie carefully, recalling the first time he had tried to tie one from a YouTube tutorial years ago. He had learned then that some knots required practice. Others required help. He was better at the former.
At three, he went to pick up Professor Qin Ruo. The university had arranged a car for them – an older black sedan rather than a flashy SUV. She stood outside her building in a midnight-blue gown, the brooch glinting at her shoulder. Her hair was swept up, a few wisps framing her face. She looked… stately. Detached. Beautiful in a way that dared you to comment on it.
"You look… prepared," he said.
"And you look like a metaphor," she replied, her tone teasing. "Half gentleman, half storm."
They rode to the venue in comfortable silence. She updated him on last-minute donor changes. "Dr. Shah won't attend. Flight issues," she said. "Mrs. Zhao might ask you about blockchain."
"I'll pretend to know more than I do," he said.
"Better to admit what you don't know," she cautioned. "Donors hate arrogance. They respect humility wrapped in confidence."
He glanced at her brooch. "Does that weigh as much as it looks?" he asked.
"It reminds me of where my shoulder is," she said dryly.
The gala was at a historic hall near the Bund, its marble columns draped with velvet. Inside, the ceiling stretched high, frescoes depicting pastoral scenes contrasting with the sharp lines of modern suits and gowns. Strings of lights hung like constellations. Waitstaff in black and white wove through with trays of champagne flutes.
They walked in together. Heads turned. Cameras clicked. The hum of conversation dipped, then resumed with renewed vigor. Rumors, assumptions, whispers. He could almost see the hashtags forming.
At the entrance, an MC with a bright smile and a glittery microphone greeted them. "Professor Qin Ruo! Mr. Lin Ze! So happy to have you. Looking fabulous!"
"Thank you," Qin Ruo said, her voice smooth. She didn't correct the "Mr." part. She never did. She let the misassumptions float. They served her.
Lin Ze took a flute of sparkling water from a passing tray. He didn't drink alcohol at events like this. Not because he couldn't handle it, but because clarity was his weapon.
They mingled. He shook hands with donors. Some were sincere, eyes warm with the memory of their own difficult beginnings. Others were transactional, eyes darting to see who was watching. One man leaned in and said, "My grandson could use an internship. Do you pick favorites?"
"No," Lin Ze said with a smile. "Favoritism leaves stains."
Another woman asked, "Is it true you're seeing Su Yanli?" He laughed lightly. "I see many people," he said. "Especially in rooms like this."
Around them, the gala unfolded like a ballet. Waiters moved in patterns. Guests rotated. Conversations swirled. He spotted Han Yuchen across the room, standing beside Su Yanli. They looked… perfect. His black tuxedo fit like it had been painted on. Her gown was ivory silk, simple and exquisite. He wore a small boutonniere that matched the brooch on Qin Ruo's shoulder. Symbolism. Ownership.
Their eyes met. A flicker of acknowledgement. They did not approach.
"Do you feel like a chess piece?" Qin Ruo asked him quietly as they moved toward a table.
"Every day," he replied. "But sometimes I get to be a knight instead of a pawn."
She smirked. "Try not to jump over anyone tonight," she said.
A man with a clipboard approached. "Mr. Lin, Professor Qin," he said. "You're seated at Table 5. Right next to Mr. Han and Ms. Su."
Of course. Of course the seating chart would be designed to maximize tension.
"Lovely," Qin Ruo said.
They walked to Table 5. The table settings sparkled. Name cards in calligraphy. Han Yuchen stood as they approached, pulling out a chair – not for Lin Ze, but for Professor Qin.
"Professor," he said. "You look exquisite."
"Thank you," she replied, taking her seat. Her eyes flicked to his boutonniere. "Nice touch."
He smiled. "We aim for harmony," he said, sliding his gaze to Lin Ze.
Lin Ze took his seat beside Qin. Su Yanli sat across from him. She looked composed, hands clasped lightly in her lap. Only he could see the tiny, almost imperceptible movement of her thumb against her fingers – a nervous tick she rarely showed.
"Mr. Lin," Han said, his tone polite. "I hope you found our conversation yesterday enlightening."
"It was… educational," Lin Ze replied.
Han's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Excellent. Education is your thing, after all."
Before the conversation could dip into anything deeper, the MC took the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Silver Harbor Scholarship Gala!" she sang. Applause. "We are here tonight to celebrate our donors, our students, and the power of education to transform lives."
The lights dimmed slightly. A slideshow appeared on a large screen, showing pictures of students in labs, classrooms, and soccer fields. A voiceover told stories of hardship and hope. Donations pledges flashed on screens. People clapped. Some wiped eyes. Some checked their phones.
Midway through the program, waitstaff began serving the main course. Just as Lin Ze lifted his fork, he felt someone bump his shoulder. A hand. A stumble. A gasp. He looked down.
Red wine. Everywhere.
His lapel. His shirtfront. A deep crimson stain blooming like a wound.
For a second, the room went silent. He looked up and saw the culprit – a young donor, face flushed, eyes wide with horror. "I'm so sorry!" she blurted. "I tripped – these heels – I'm –"
"Salt," Qin Ruo said calmly beside him, reaching for a small dish on the table. "Quickly."
He took the salt shaker from her. It wasn't like the packets from a diner. It was a small silver bowl with a tiny spoon. He scooped a handful and pressed it onto the stain, rubbing gently. The salt crystals absorbed the liquid, turning pink.
The MC stuttered mid-sentence. People whispered. Su Yanli's eyes were on him, unreadable. Han Yuchen watched, head tilted.
"This is why I didn't wear white," Lin Ze joked, breaking the tension. A few people chuckled.
"It's okay," he said to the donor. "Happens. Please sit. Let's not turn this into a tragedy for merlot."
She smiled weakly, relief flooding her face. The show continued.
Qin Ruo leaned in. "Good reflexes," she murmured.
"Good advice," he murmured back.
Across the table, Han Yuchen's lips twitched. "Impressive," he said. "You handled that well."
"I adapt," Lin Ze said. "Remember?"
"You do," Han agreed. "And you make it look effortless."
As dessert arrived, the MC announced, "Now, we'd like to invite our scholarship representative, Professor Qin Ruo, to say a few words!"
Qin Ruo stood gracefully, smoothing her dress. She walked to the stage, her brooch catching the light. She spoke not about donors or money, but about students. About names and faces and stories. About a boy who studied by streetlight. About a girl who translated textbooks from English to Chinese because she couldn't afford the Chinese edition. About how money is a tool and education is a weapon against ignorance.
She finished with, "Thank you for giving us the tools. We'll handle the rest." Applause thundered. Many eyes glistened.
When she returned to the table, Han Yuchen stood. "That was moving," he said. "Truly."
"Facts usually are," she replied.
Later, when the event wound down and guests began to mingle more casually, Lin Ze found himself near the bar with a sparkling water. A woman approached, one he hadn't met. Her hair was silver, her gown simple black. Her eyes were sharp.
"You handled that wine like a professional," she said. "Chairman Wu sends his compliments."
"Chairman Wu?" Lin Ze repeated, mind flipping through the names. Ah. The one who liked being called Chairman.
"Yes," she said. "I'm his wife. He's in the restroom but wanted me to tell you that your scholarship fund reminds him of his youth. He grew up poor. Most forget that. He doesn't."
"Thank you," Lin Ze said. "Please tell him I appreciate his perspective."
She nodded. "I will. And between you and me, I think your presence bothers some people. That's usually a sign you're doing something right."
He smiled. "I hope so."
As the night drew to a close, Han Yuchen approached him by the balcony. The city lights were dazzling.
"Mr. Lin," he said, tone still polite. "Tonight went well."
"Define well," Lin Ze replied.
"No fights," Han said. "No scandals. Only a stain that turned into a lesson. I call that a success."
"And you?" Lin Ze asked. "Was your narrative protected?"
Han shrugged. "Narratives evolve," he said. "You'll learn that if you decide to stay in them long enough."
"I decide whether to leave or stay," Lin Ze said.
"For now," Han agreed. "But we should talk again soon. Privately."
"Why? We're talking now," Lin Ze said.
"Without others listening," Han clarified, glancing at the walls.
"There are always ears," Lin Ze said. "Best get used to performing with them."
Han laughed quietly. "You're incorrigible," he said. "Good night, Mr. Lin."
"Good night," Lin Ze replied.
On their way out, Su Yanli squeezed his arm briefly. "You did well," she whispered. "Better than I hoped. Han won't admit it, but he respects you."
"I didn't spill wine on him," Lin Ze said.
"Maybe next time," she murmured, lips curving.
He escorted Professor Qin Ruo to her car. As he opened the door for her, she said, "Salt always works. Remember that."
"On stains?" he asked.
"On rumors," she said. "They need something to absorb them. Facts often do the trick."
He chuckled. "Thank you," he said.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "Thank you. This could have been a disaster. Instead, it was just a gala. That's an improvement."
He went home with the faint scent of merlot and salt on his lapel. He hung the tuxedo, placed salt in a small glass jar on his counter as a reminder of the night, and checked his phone.
Messages from followers. Memes from Lin Meiqi: one showing a glass of wine pouring onto a suit with the caption: "When life spills, sprinkle salt." A single-line text from Han Yuchen: "Round one."
A voicemail from his mother, laughing softly. "I saw you on the livestream," she said in the recording. "You looked serious, but your eyes… your father had those eyes. I'm proud of you, Lin Ze. And please don't forget to drink water."
He smiled, eyes stinging. He poured a glass of water and sat by the window. The city shimmered. It didn't care about his battles, his stains, his scholarships. It was simply beautiful and indifferent.
He took a sip and whispered, "Round one."