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The private gallery sat three floors above street level, tucked behind a tea house that still smelled faintly of roasted leaves and old wood. From the outside, it looked quiet—almost dull. Inside, it was controlled chaos. Conversations overlapped in low tones. Glasses clinked softly. People drifted between pieces of modern art they didn’t really care about, using the space for what it was meant for.
Contact.
Ren Lei stood near the far wall, hands relaxed at his sides, pos ...
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