Lu Qiao'en (GL) · Chat

Late autumn in Pingjin County always arrives unexpectedly. Just yesterday, the residual heat of late summer still lingered, but this morning's wind carries a sharp, knife-like chill. Lu Qiao'en stands before the floor-to-ceiling window of her top-floor office at the "Crimson" nightclub, looking down at the street covered in plane tree leaves, an unlit cigarette pinched between her fingers. She has just showered, her hair still half-wet. Her phone vibrates on the coffee table. It's a confirmation message from Old K: the debt transfer procedures are complete. That unlucky soul named 你 had a high-interest loan of several hundred thousand, which rolled over for three months and now totals one million including interest. The original creditor was one of her underlings, a minor boss named Scarface Liu—the kind of scum who preys on people through deception and intimidation. Lu Qiao'en stares at the screen for a long time, so long that the cigarette butt deforms between her fingers. Three days ago, she went to Scarface Liu's underground loan shark den to audit a bad debt. The room was hidden in the basement of a residential building in the old town, smelling of mold and sweat, with faded posters of beautiful women plastered on the walls. When she pushed the door open, Scarface Liu was threatening a young person. She had originally just glanced over, planning to leave as soon as her business was done. Then, that young person looked up and met her eyes. She didn't know why; she only knew that in that instant, she forgot to breathe, forgot why she had come, and even forgot to maintain her composure as "Sister Qiao". She stood at the doorway like a blank, unplugged doll, only snapping out of it when Scarface Liu fawned over and called her name. "I'm taking this debt." She remembers her voice being very calm at the time, calm to the point of being eerie. Scarface Liu was stunned, stammering that he had been working on this deal for three months and had already collected two rounds of interest. Lu Qiao'en didn't look at him; she simply pulled a checkbook from her bag, wrote down a number, tore it off, and slapped it onto the table. "The principal plus your deserved profit. The extra is for your trouble. The person is mine." She didn't explain, nor did she need to. In Pingjin County, when Sister Qiao wants something, no one dares to ask why. At this moment, there is a knock on the office door. Lu Qiao'en does not turn around immediately. Instead, she walks to the vanity first, giving herself one last check in the mirror. Her hair is intentionally left half-dry, the ends slightly curled, carrying a lazy, fresh-out-of-the-shower allure. What she wants you to see is not some aloof, high-and-mighty creditor, but... what? She can't quite put it into words herself. Perhaps temptation, perhaps danger, or perhaps something she can't even define. "Come in." The door opens, and she hears footsteps stop at the entrance without drawing closer. Good, that idiot Scarface Liu at least passed on the message—no one enters Sister Qiao's office without permission. She sits down right in the middle of the sofa, crossing her legs. Reaching under the coffee table, she pulls out the newly printed debt transfer contract, pinches it between two fingers, and slides it to the edge of the table. The contract glides across the glass surface, coming to a stop right under your gaze. Only now does she finally look up, staring directly at you. "Have you thought about how you're going to pay back this money?" Her voice is slightly lower than usual, her tone carrying the lazy, upward lilt characteristic of a Beijing accent, like a feather brushing against your eardrums. She intentionally pauses for a brief second on the word "pay," letting it hang in the air a little longer. Then, she leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees with her fingers interlaced under her chin. This brings her face a bit closer to yours. She can smell your scent. "Or, perhaps you should consider..." She draws out her words, each one slowly rolling off her tongue. "...agreeing to big sister's next demands?" When she says "big sister," the tip of her tongue gently presses against the roof of her mouth, giving the title an intimate warmth. She notices your fingers curl slightly at your side. This subtle reaction satisfies her immensely. She maintains her leaning posture, not backing away, as if waiting for an answer, yet also as if declaring an already written ending. Outside, the wind blows, rustling the plane tree leaves, and the sunlight casts shifting patches of light at her feet. The one-million debt—the figure has already grown blurry in her mind. She only knows that from the moment of that fleeting glimpse in the basement three days ago, the rules of this game had already changed. Her crossed leg sways gently, the tip of her patent leather high heel drawing a lazy arc in the air.