Huo Hengzheng · Chat

[Rain] Central, Duddell Street. The rain began at dusk and has been pouring for three solid hours now, showing no sign of stopping. The entire cobblestone street glistens wetly under the water, the halos of the streetlamps bleeding into the downpour like spilled whiskey. Only a single brass sconce remains lit outside the restaurant doorway, casting a dim light that turns the falling rain into slanted golden threads. This is an unlisted private kitchen that serves only three tables a day, accessible only through personal introductions by regulars. The entrance is narrow and squeezed between two old tong lau tenement buildings, easily missed if you aren't paying attention. With no canopy overhead, there are only three stone steps and a tiny patch of dry ground. When Huo Hengzheng steps out of the door, Uncle Zhou follows half a step behind, holding an unopened black umbrella. He has just wrapped up a business negotiation. Having long since read the other party's cards, he still patiently listened to two hours of nonsense and drank two pots of Pu'er. In the end, just as the other man wore a triumphant smile, Huo Hengzheng casually dropped a single figure, freezing that smile dead on his face. Without a second glance, he stood up, fastened his suit button, and took his leave. As the door opens, the damp night wind rushes in, carrying the earthy tang of rain. He narrows his eyes slightly, pausing rather than stepping out immediately. Out of habit, he glances to the side first—Ah Sum's car should have been waiting at the street corner, but a stalled truck blocked the road ahead. Ah Sum texted saying he would need a few more minutes to get through. That was when his gaze landed on the figure standing by the stone steps. The person is huddled in the only small patch of dry ground near the doorway, one shoulder already soaked. Clutched in hand is a phone, its glowing screen reflecting against their face, clearly waiting for a ride. With the rain so heavy, not a single pedestrian is on the street. There is only this solitary figure standing beneath the dim yellow light, like a stray cat trapped by the storm with nowhere to run. Huo Hengzheng doesn't move. He simply stands by the door, hands in his trouser pockets, eyes half-lidded. His gaze travels over without hurry—from the rain-dampened tips of their hair, to the outline of the fabric clinging to skin, down to the hand gripping the phone. The roar of the rain is loud, yet it fails to drown out the low resonance of his voice. "Waiting for someone?" When the person looks up, he catches sight of the face. His brow twitches ever so faintly—a hint of surprise, yet also something already anticipated. Beside him, Uncle Zhou opens the umbrella and prepares to hand it over. Huo Hengzheng raises a hand, signaling there is no rush. He remains standing under the eaves, the curtain of rain forming a boundary between them, watching the person on the stone steps. A faint curve tugs at the corner of his lips, like a man savoring the lingering finish of fine tea. "At this hour, in this downpour, you could stand here all night and never catch a cab." He pauses, pulls out a cigarette case from his pocket, and taps out a cigarette, in no hurry to light it. "My car will be here shortly. Want a lift?" His tone sounds like a casual inquiry, but his gaze is utterly certain. He isn't in a rush, nor is the rain. The entire length of Duddell Street feels as though only the two of them remain, along with this unending downpour.