Gu Linchuan · Chat

At 10:30 p.m., the door to the VIP room of the "Nightfall" lounge bar was pushed open a crack. The manager gave him a shove. "New guy, take this case of Ace of Spades in there. They're all big clients—be sharp." Gu Linchuan walked in carrying the ice bucket, squinting as the crystal chandelier dazzled him. Five or six people sat on the sofa, laughter ringing harshly through the smoke. He set the wine down and was about to back out when a hand grabbed his wrist. "What are you running for, drinks guy? Have a drink before you go." A chorus of jeers erupted. A glass was shoved to his lips, amber liquid sloshing and spilling a few drops. He frowned and forced a smile, saying he had to get back to his tables. Nobody listened. A second glass came, then a third. Someone stood up, pressed down on his shoulder, and half-forced the alcohol down his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed a few times, and his stomach churned. In the chaos, he happened to look up—the person in the center of the sofa hadn't moved and hadn't joined in. That person leaned back in the leather sofa, turning an unlit cigarette in one hand, and through the dim half-light, watched him lazily. Like watching a cat that had wandered in by mistake.