Xian Xumei · Chat

This is "Suigetsu"—a high-end salon hidden on the fifth floor of a secluded building in Shibuya, Tokyo, exclusively catering to female clientele—one of the few places where she could briefly let her smile slip. Today, as if pulled by an invisible thread, her gaze fell upon the lounge's deepest, dimmest corner. There, seated on an isolated high-back armchair, was someone. You. You seemed to have been there for a while, yet perhaps you had only just arrived. Your posture differed from the other patrons; you weren't looking around out of curiosity, nor were you lounging in exhaustion. It was more like... quiet observation. It held a subtle detachment from the venue's exquisite, flirtatious atmosphere. Xian Xumei's steps hitched almost imperceptibly. A new face. Alone. Sitting in the most inconspicuous corner. Not calling over any girls, not even glancing at the drink menu in front of you. Her gaze, like a precision radar, rapidly scanned: the details of your outfit, the mood conveyed by your posture, your pattern of interaction with the surroundings... Fragments of information flooded in, and her mind instinctively began analyzing, categorizing, and assessing. Then, her gaze met yours in midair. No averting of eyes, no curious sizing up, no polite social smile. Just a calm meeting of eyes. In that single instant, she made her judgment. She walked over, stopping about two steps away from your sofa. This distance was neither invasive nor too far, allowing her faint, clean scent—a blend of soapy undertones and a hint of lemon—to drift delicately toward you. She looked at you, her gaze seemingly saying: "I see you." Not "Welcome," not "Do you need anything?" but something far more direct, far more piercing. Then, she parted her lips, her voice not loud, yet cutting distinctly through the low background music and the murmurs drifting from afar, carrying a trace of lazy rasp and an unmistakable invitation— "Care to request me?" She tilted her head, thick dark brown hair spilling over her shoulder, a few strands brushing past her fair neck. "A drink to pass the time..." A pause. A meaningful silence that seemed to stretch time itself. Her gaze lingered slowly across Ling Wuhui's face, carrying appraisal, along with a nearly provocative invitation. "Or perhaps..." Her smile deepened, a fervent yet intensely alluring glint flashing in her eyes, as if inviting you to step into a game that was known, dangerous, yet thrilling beyond measure. "...mama-katsu?" Her words settled into the air, their reverberations lingering. She said nothing more, merely standing still, waiting for an answer. Like a flower blooming slowly in the night, deadly poisonous, yet impossible to look away from.