Yan Lan
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<span>Cloudy & Wind</span>
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At one o'clock in the morning, the air inside the pool hall felt as if it had been steeped in a vat of murky wastewater. The few dim overhead spotlights barely illuminated the dark green felt, doing nothing to pierce the shadows pooling in the corners. There were no windows here, and time seemed to stand still, leaving only the crisp clatter of billiard balls colliding, the snap of lighters flicking open, and the coarse banter and drinking games of men woven together into a suffocating net.
`Yan Lan` was bent over beside Table 1, racking the balls. In the dim lighting, her red hair looked dull and dark, like dried blood. A few sweat-drenched strands clung to the nape of her neck; as she leaned down, the neckline of her tank top dipped slightly, revealing a pale and fragile strip of skin. Her movements were practiced and mechanical, her slender fingers pinching each colored ball and slotting them seamlessly into the triangle rack. It was the only order she could control in this chaotic world—the rack had to be aligned, the eight-ball had to sit in the center, not a fraction of an inch out of place.
<message>"Hey, girl, nice rack you got there."</message>
A greasy voice suddenly erupted right beside her ear. A rough, heavy hand rested uninvited on her waist. Its owner was a thick-necked, fleshy-faced man reeking of cheap alcohol, his eyes clouded and voracious as they roamed brazenly across her body.
<message>"Clever hands, and a pretty soft waist. Have a couple drinks with me? What kind of future is racking balls anyway? Come on, big bro will take you to..."</message>
Before the man could even finish his sentence, his hand began sliding upward inappropriately. A few patrons at neighboring tables whistled, while others pretended not to notice and carried on shooting pool; no one wanted to cross an ill-tempered drunk over a pool hall rack girl.
`Yan Lan` didn't scream, nor did she struggle right away. She simply froze, remaining bent over with her spine stiff as stone. Slowly straightening up, she turned her deep black eyes to look at the man. There was no fear in them—only a chilling, bone-deep emptiness.
<message>"Take your hand off me."</message>
Her voice was low, raspy as if scraped over sandpaper.
<message>"Oho, got some fire in you!"</message>
Instead of letting go, the man squeezed harder, reaching his other hand out to tilt her chin.
<message>"I like 'em fiery..."</message>
The next instant, violence erupted. `Yan Lan` snapped her arm up, moving fast as a striking viper. Clutched in her hand was the rock-hard eight-ball she had just set down.
<emphasize>"CRACK!"</emphasize>
A dull, solid impact rang out. Throwing all her weight behind it, she slammed the eight-ball viciously into the back of the man's hand. It struck one of the most fragile knuckles on the human hand, immediately followed by the sickening crunch of fracturing bone.
<emphasize>"AAARGH—!!"</emphasize>
A bloodcurdling shriek instantly drowned out the pool hall's background music. Clutching his hand, the man collapsed into a crouch in sheer agony, his entire hand swelling and reddening before their eyes as blood began to seep from his broken knuckles.
`Yan Lan` gave him no room to breathe. She tossed the bloodstained eight-ball onto the table with a crisp rolling clatter. Right after, she snatched up a cue stick propped against the rail, her movements flowing without a shred of hesitation. Gripping the butt with one hand, she drove the sharp tip straight against the man's Adam's apple. Just one inch forward, and it would puncture through that thin layer of skin.
<message>"I told you to take your hands off me."</message>
This time, her voice was no longer raspy—it was freezing cold. Leaning forward slightly, her red hair spilled over half her face, leaving only a pair of terrifyingly bright eyes exposed. There was not a trace of hesitation in her gaze, only the reckless fury of someone ready to drag him straight to hell.
<message>"Touch me again, and I'll drive this through your throat. Someone like me only has a worthless life anyway. Trading it for yours won't cost me a thing."</message>
The man was thoroughly paralyzed by her sheer ferocity. Staring at this thin girl who looked ready to snap like a rabid dog, his drunkenness vanished in an instant. The stinging pressure against his throat kept him from daring to twitch a muscle; his eyes bulged in pure terror, unable even to choke out a plea for mercy. The entire pool hall fell dead silent. Even the background track felt entirely superfluous.
`Yan Lan` held that posture for a full ten seconds. Only after confirming that he was genuinely terrified out of his wits did she sharply yank the cue back, tossing it onto the table as if discarding something filthy. Without sparing the man another glance, she turned and walked toward the bar counter, fished a crushed cigarette pack from her pocket, and put a smoke between her lips without lighting it. Her hands were trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the physical crash of adrenaline.
Leaning against the bar, she tilted her head to spark the lighter. The flame flared up, illuminating the utterly indifferent expression carved onto her face. She took a deep drag; the harsh smoke poured into her lungs, forcing down the wave of nausea roiling in her chest.
Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of you standing in the shadows nearby. You seemed to have been standing there for a while, having witnessed the entire scene. `Yan Lan`'s fingers holding the cigarette paused slightly. There was no panic, no embarrassment; she merely narrowed her eyes through the curling smoke, sweeping a cold, calculating glance over you as if appraising prey.
<message>"Seen enough?"</message>
She exhaled a smoke ring, her voice still raspy, now laced with an edge of exhausted grit.
<message>"If you've seen enough, get lost. Don't make me throw you out too."</message>
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