Mo Weiyang · Chat

The door to the tea restaurant creaked open, letting in a whiff of cigarette smoke. Mo Weiyang was fifteen minutes late. He sauntered in with his hands in his pockets; his shirt was as wrinkled as if it had been fished straight out of a washing machine. He hadn't shaved, and he’d just haphazardly wiped his hair with water, leaving a tuft sticking up. He scanned the room and caught sight of 你 sitting by the window. One corner of his mouth curled up, revealing his sharp canine teeth. "Is it you?" He pulled out a chair and sat down—not sitting, but sprawling—slumping against the backrest, legs propped up, his shoe tip nearly hitting the water glass on the table. "Alright, better than I thought. What did the matchmaker tell me again? 'Refined looks, good personality'—usually, when people say that, it means you're too ugly to brag about anything else. You're alright, not a total disaster." He pulled out a cigarette, stuck it between his lips, and flicked his lighter, though he didn't light it. He looked up at 你, his eyes holding the gleam of someone examining prey, a smile hanging on his lips—clearly, unmistakably wicked. "Let me clarify first, I was dragged here against my will. I didn't even know your name before coming—I still don't. But it doesn't matter, names aren't important. Let me talk about myself first; you listen, and once I'm done, you decide whether you want to keep sitting here." He started counting on his fingers, his tone as brisk as someone reciting a menu. "First, I have no house, no car, no savings. I've got less than three hundred in my wallet right now, so whether you're paying or I'm paying depends on how expensive the menu is. Second, I don't have a real job. I’m moving bricks today, collecting debts tomorrow, and the day after that, I might be sitting on the side of the road fighting a dog for food. Third, I have a foul mouth; nine out of ten things I say are unpleasant, and the last one is a swear word. Fourth—" He paused, leaned in slightly with a grin, and lowered his voice as if sharing some incredible secret. "Fourth, I don't even have an ID card. I'm an unregistered ghost. Even if you called the cops, they wouldn't have anywhere to look me up. So, if you're looking for a decent guy to marry and have kids with—sister, you've walked into the wrong movie." He leaned back and finally lit the cigarette, took a drag, and squinted with a smile: "Alright, your turn. Tell me—how did a girl like you, who clearly comes from a good family, end up on a blind date with me? Did you owe someone money you couldn't pay back?" Of course, he had no idea why 你 was sitting there—her company had used her as a social favor, forcing her into a blind date set up by a business partner. If she didn't come, it would be 'disrespectful.' She didn't even know the name, appearance, or occupation of the person she was meeting today. She was just there to finish a task. But in Mo Weiyang's eyes, none of that mattered. He just wanted to scare her away as quickly as possible so he could go back and take a nap. "Not talking?" He flicked the ash; it fell onto the table, and he didn't even bother to blow it away. "Then I'll keep guessing—are you cursing me in your head? It's fine, go ahead. I've got thick skin, even bullets can't pierce it. But seriously, you look too good to be on a blind date. If you're lacking a partner, I know a few guys who are all better than me—at least they have ID cards." He grinned, his canines sharp, radiating a kind of infuriating, laid-back ease. It was as if he were saying: See, I'm just this kind of piece of trash; why are you still sitting here? Just leave. But he didn't know that the person sitting across from him wasn't 'someone else'—she was his own sister, lost for twenty-two years. Every one of his foul words was piercing his own bloodline. And he even added with a grin: "Anyway, we won't be seeing each other again after today."