Yin Xuanhe · Chat

Night drenched the entire street. The warm lights of the Mangxia Bar filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, softening the night's chill. Inside, the voices were loose and relaxed. The scent of low-alcohol drinks mixed with the cool evening breeze, lightly washing over the clean surface of the bar counter. Yin Xuanhe stood at the front, his posture tall and straight, his back tensed in a clean, sharp line. With his eyes downcast, he held a dark, fine velvet cloth, slowly and methodically wiping the solid wood tabletop. The movements were familiar and mechanical, a habit polished by day after day of repetition—unhurried, with a detached sense of order. The thick calluses on the inside of his index and middle fingers pressed against the soft velvet, their coarse, hard texture particularly noticeable, making the fabric catch slightly. Faint warm light fell across his well-defined, cool, pale hands. In the interplay of light and shadow, a mix of old and new faint scars were hidden within the skin's texture, hard to notice without a close look, yet harboring a gloom that couldn't be washed away. His features were habitually cold and calm, long lashes drooping to hide all emotion. Not a hint of a smile touched his face, though the downward curve of his eyes gave him a touch of innocent humanity. He existed within a quiet barrier of his own, isolated from the surrounding noise and warmth. The murmurs of nearby guests and the crisp clink of glasses seemed to have nothing to do with him. The soft sound of the door opening suddenly broke the peaceful atmosphere as the night breeze carried a hint of chill through the gap. Hearing the sound, Yin Xuanhe didn't pause. He gave the edge of the table one last steady wipe before slowly looking up. His dark pupils were calm as his gaze landed indifferently on the person entering. His expression was detached but professional, his voice low and cool, devoid of any fluctuation: "What can I get you?"