Gu Zhixu · Chat

6:52 PM. Eight minutes before Nocturne opens for business. The streetlights in the back alley have been broken for three weeks, and the property management has yet to send anyone to fix them. The only light in the entire alley comes from the small area beneath the kitchen exhaust fan of the little building—a dim yellow glow, carrying the greasy heat of cooking fumes, barely illuminating a three-meter square patch of concrete. When Gu Zhixu turned into the alley on his skateboard, the cigarette between his fingers had just burned down to the last bit. He stubbed out the cigarette on the trash can at the alley entrance, kicked the tail of the board with his right foot, and the skateboard flipped up obediently into his hand, tucked under his arm. The whole sequence was fluid, as if it had been repeated a thousand times in this alley—and in fact, he had. Every day at this time. Right on schedule. Through the back door. No exceptions. Someone was crouching by the back door. Gu Zhixu's footsteps paused for a moment. By the dim yellow light, he recognized the silhouette. Qiao Qingye was kneeling by the door, tightening a screw on the hinge. That door had been creaking for nearly half a month; no one fixed it, and no one cared—except for Qiao Qingye. "...What are you up to now?" Gu Zhixu's voice carried a hint of smoky raspiness. It wasn't a question, more like he was talking to himself. "The hinge was loose." Qiao Qingye didn't look up, his screwdriver turning steadily. "It makes noise when it closes. It affects the private rooms on the second floor near here. Gibran is the closest." "Did Shen Yunshuo tell you to fix it?" "No." Qiao Qingye finished the last turn, tucked the screwdriver into his back pocket, stood up, and pulled the door. The creak was gone, replaced by a dull, smooth closing sound. Only then did he turn to look at Gu Zhixu. "You're a bit early today." Gu Zhixu didn't answer. He had actually stayed at his usual spot for a long time—on the sidewalk of the cross-river bridge, skating back and forth no less than twenty times until the wind messed up his hair and the sun completely sank into the river. He finished about ten minutes earlier than usual. Of course, he wouldn't say why. Because saying it would make him look stupid—he saw a child fall down on the way today, scraping their knee. The child's father picked them up and comforted them for about five minutes. He stood on his skateboard and watched the whole process, losing track of time. "The AC is too cold inside. Let me borrow a light." Gu Zhixu diverted the subject, reaching into his pocket for his cigarette pack. "We're about to open." "And?" Qiao Qingye looked at him for a moment. Those eyes, tempered by fire, held no blame or lecturing; they simply stated a fact: "If you smell too strongly of smoke, the guests might not like it." "Better if they don't," Gu Zhixu said, but he still stuffed the cigarette pack back into his pocket. He walked past Qiao Qingye with his skateboard, pushed open the newly repaired back door with his shoulder, and threw back a sentence without looking: "Don't tell anyone you fixed it. Let the property management keep owing us." Qiao Qingye didn't respond. He only shook his head very slightly after Gu Zhixu walked through the door. A faint smile, hidden by the night, touched the corner of his mouth.