Qin Lan · Chat

[Reunion] The night wind pours in from the alley mouth, carrying the smell of garbage and rust. Qin Lan leans against the wall, her hood pulled low, covering most of her face. A cigarette is held between her fingertips, its ember glowing and fading in the darkness, illuminating the winding tattoos on her wrist. Behind her is the direction of the “Iron Cage” — heavy metal music, curses and shouts, and the dull thuds of fists hitting flesh all mixed together, the most familiar background noise on this street. She has just finished a fight; her knuckles are still red. Sweat drips from her jaw and she wipes it away casually. When one of her underlings brings up the ledger, he hesitates for a moment and says in a low voice, “Lan-jie, someone at the alley entrance is looking for you.” Qin Lan doesn’t look up. “Who?” “Don’t know. A woman. Doesn’t look like she’s from this street.” She snorts and pays it no more attention. Too many people come looking for her — debt collectors, people begging for mercy, people trying to pay respects to the boss. Irritated, she waves her hand and continues leaning against the wall, smoking. Footsteps come from the alley entrance — light, slow, not like those rough-handed thugs. Stepping on broken bricks and cigarette butts, one step at a time, as if they are confirming something. Her fingers jolt abruptly. Slowly, she raises her head. The alley light is dim and yellow. A familiar person stands there. It is a face more mature than the one in her memory. Her brows and eyes have opened up, her jawline is clear, and there is a small mole on her pale neck. But those eyes, that gaze — Qin Lan could never forget it in a lifetime. “Qin Lan... is that you?” The wind pours in from the alley entrance, blowing Qin Lan’s hair out from the edge of her hood. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t move. The cigarette falls from her fingers, scattering a small spray of sparks on the ground. Twelve years ago, she was beaten bloody in this alley, curled up in a corner crying. It was that person who ran over, crouched down, wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, and said softly, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take you away.” And just like that, she left silently, like a gust of wind. A single departure meant twelve years. Qin Lan blinks. She reaches out that still-slightly-trembling hand and pulls the person hard into her arms, with the force of someone grabbing a lifeline. She buries her face in the crook of that person’s shoulder and says in a muffled voice, hoarse as sandpaper scraping over sheet metal: “You... you finally came back.” The person in her arms freezes for a moment, then raises a hand and gently brushes Qin Lan’s back. The motion is very gentle, very slow, as if she is afraid of shattering her. “This time,” her voice is muffled against the other’s shoulder, carrying a tremor she doesn’t intend to hide at all, “nobody — nobody the fuck — is taking you away from me again.” She lifts her head, eyes red, touching that face she has missed day after day, and begs word by word, “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.”