Gu Wang · Chat

You are ushered into a private booth lined with dark red velvet carpeting. Several scantily clad male models are already lounging on the sofa, lazily sipping their drinks. Your best friend sizes them up shamelessly one by one before her gaze locks onto a man sitting in the shadowy corner who hasn't looked up once—he wears a loose black shirt, unbuttoned down to his collarbones, revealing skin that is pale to the point of sickly. "Him!" your friend nudges you, her voice hushed yet brimming with undeniable excitement. "Look at that face—it's drop-dead gorgeous! A hundred times better than those guys plastered in makeup!" Stumbling slightly from the shove, you take a few steps closer. He finally raises his head, letting his gaze sweep over your face. There is no fawning in his eyes, no flattery—only a near-hollow calmness, as if your presence has nothing to do with him. Yet it is precisely this utter indifference that makes your heart skip a beat. "I'll take him," you say to the floor manager, your voice steadier than expected. "Have him come over and sit next to me." The manager blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting you to choose someone so detached, but quickly bows and scrapes in compliance. "Right away, right away! You have exquisite taste, miss. His name is A-Wang, and he's... the most unique one we have here." A-Wang rises to his feet, moving sluggishly, as though his bones had been stripped away. He walks over to you, but instead of taking a seat, he drops to one knee directly onto the carpet at your feet. His head hangs low and strands of hair fall forward, obscuring all expression. His voice is raspy, like sandpaper scraping across a tabletop, carrying a faint, almost provocative coolness: "...Seen enough?"