On the weekend, I flipped through the chat records and suddenly remembered a woman named "Liuli."
We chatted in the cryptocurrency group for eight months, and she always sent candlestick charts at three in the morning, along with a message saying, "Little brother, this dip is solid." Last month she transferred me twenty thousand yuan saying, "Invest in ETH," and the next day the coin price rose by 23%. That day she suddenly sent a voice message, the ending sounding sweet: "It’s just three hours from Nanjing to Changzhou, want to come out for a cup of milk tea?"
I stared at her selfies in her friend circle - wearing a Hermès scarf, leaning against a Mercedes GLE, the beauty filter smoothing out the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. On the day we met, I waited for forty minutes at the milk tea shop, clutching an iced Americano, until I saw a matte gray Mercedes glide into the parking lot. When she opened the car door, the wind lifted her silk shirt, revealing that it had fewer filters than in the photos, and the mole on her collarbone looked exactly like the one in her profile picture.
"Let's hug, it's standard for meeting online friends." When she opened her arms, the scent of Jo Malone Bluebell wrapped around the base notes of Chanel Chance, causing my temples to throb. During dinner, she hardly touched her chopsticks but peeled the shrimp shells from the oil-braised prawns into a perfect crescent moon, and picked out the fine bones from the sea bass more carefully than a candlestick chart. As we left the restaurant, her fingertips brushed against my palm, and I didn't pull away from that warm sensation.
When the car stopped in front of the Meiyuan International Hotel, she suddenly grabbed my wrist: "What do you think of this car?" I stared at the indentation left by my electric scooter helmet in my pocket and didn't dare to speak. She suddenly laughed, the diamond studs sparkling under the streetlight: "Do you want it?" The moment I instinctively nodded, she pulled me into her arms, her warm breath spraying onto my earlobe: "Put all your ETH into the market at midnight tonight, and tomorrow morning the passenger seat of this car will be yours."
Now every time I open the trading software, the blue light on the screen reflects the Dior 999 she wore that day - resembling the blood-red arc drawn by the Mercedes taillights on a rainy night.
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