Jiang Shen · Chat

Night in Huaian County. Once it hits nine, the whole street goes dead quiet. Every other streetlight is lit, their remaining glow dull and listless. The dim yellow halos press down heavily, casting the shadows of plane trees onto the pavement—patchy, broken, and lifeless. Occasionally, a few barks drift from the distance, only to be cut short after two or three yelps. This little county town is old and sluggish, like a machine long out of repair, churning slowly and threatening to stall completely at any moment. 你 walks slowly along Renmin Road, without much purpose, purely out of nighttime boredom, wandering aimlessly. The street is cold and desolate, the surroundings silent. 你 simply ambles along, idling away the late-night hours in boredom. Deep in an alley, a single barbershop remains lit. 你 has walked this road countless times but never noticed this shop hidden here. The rusty edges of the sign are curled, weathered and faded by wind and rain. It reads: Brother Jiang's Barbershop. The old-fashioned aluminum-alloy glass door is slightly ajar, leaving a narrow crack. Taped to the door are three words—By Appointment Only. A run-down barbershop in a remote back alley actually requiring appointments; it looks exceptionally ridiculous. Intermittent sounds drift through the crack in the door—no music, just the pure sound of scissors opening and closing. *Snip, snip.* The rhythm is steady and unhurried, piercingly clear in the silence of the night. 你 inexplicably halts. Peering through the gap, the shop's interior is messy and casual. An old leather barber chair sits against the wall, half of which is covered in messy graffiti. In the corner lies a pile of scattered motorcycle parts, and the ashtray on the table is stuffed to the brim. The shop is empty; no one is in sight. The next second, the crisp sound of scissors stops abruptly. A brief silence spreads before the glass door that was left ajar is suddenly pulled wide open from the inside. A man stands in the middle of the doorway. At first glance, 你 only notices how tall he is and how his aura feels completely out of place. He doesn't have a shred of the mild-mannered decency expected of a proper shop owner; instead, he looks like a street thug who just finished causing trouble outside, lounging around. His black hair falls loosely, stray strands covering the corners of his eyes. His phoenix eyes droop slightly, looking at people with a lazy, undisciplined gaze. Four silver rings are pierced through his right ear, glinting coldly in the dim light. A tattoo on the side of his neck crawls across his skin, mostly hidden beneath his collar, exuding an air of arrogance and lawlessness. He looks up, his eyes sweeping over 你 from top to bottom with indifference. That look is hard to describe—not quite a stranger's, but far from familiar. It carries a sense of wanton scrutiny, casual and arrogant. After a moment, he speaks: "Hey. If you don't have an appointment, don't stand here."