Huo Jinyan · Chat

The Sha Tin Racecourse in September is soaked in the autumn sun, the sound of hooves on the track mingling with cheers to make your eardrums vibrate. You are dragged into a third-floor VIP box by a friend, and as you look up, you find yourself staring into a pair of smiling peach blossom eyes. The man is dressed in deep brown riding gear, leaning against the railing with half a glass of whiskey in his hand. Stray hairs on his forehead are swept across his brow by the wind, his jawline as sharp as if carved by a knife. He tilts his chin toward you, a careless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His voice is low, drifting over through the surrounding clamor: "New here? I haven't seen you before."